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THE 

WILLIAM  R.  PERKINS 

LIBRARY 

OF 
DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


Rare  Books 


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rf 


h.SdtrvTfi- 


Eight  HojsT'Eidm?  Btj 


PHILOSOPHICAL  INQUIRY 

INTO    THE 

ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS 

OF     THE 

SUBLIME  AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

WITH    AN 

INTRODUCTORY    DISCOURSE 

CONCERNING 

TASTE, 

AND    SEVERAL    OTHER    ADDITIONS. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PRINTED   FOR   D.  JOHNSON,    PORTLAND, 
BY    J.    WATTS. 


1806. 


'■  ■-% 


KWtqh*- 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

Introduction,   on  Taste  1 

PART  L 

SECT.  I.     Novelty  33 

SECT.  II.     Pain  and  Pleasure  35 

SECT.  III.  The  difference  between  the  removal  of 
Pain  and  positive  Pleasure  38 

SECT.  IV.  Of  Delight  and  Pleasure,  as  opposed  to 
each  other  41 

SECT.  V.     Joy  and  Grief  44 

SECT.  VI.  Of  the  Passions  which  belong  to  Self- 
preservation  46 

SECT.  VII.     Of  the  Sublime  47 

SECT.  VIII.  Of  the  Passions  which  belong  to  So- 
ciety  49 

SECT.  IX.  The  final  cause  of  the  difference  between 
the  passions  belonging  to  Self-preservation,  and  those 
which  regard  the  Society  of  the  Sexes  51 

SECT.  X.     Of  Beauty  53 

SECT.  XI.     Society  and  Solitude  55 

SECT.  XII.     Sympathy,  Imitation,  and  Ambition  56 
SECT.  XIII.     Sympathy  57 

SECT.  XIV.  The  effects  of  Sympathy  in  the  dis- 
tresses of  others  58 


CONTENTS. 

SECT.  XV.     Of  the  effects  of  Tragedy  61 

SECT.  XVI.     Imitation  64 

SECT.   XVII.     Ambition  66 

SECT.  XVIII.     The  Recapitulation  68 

SECT.  XIX.     The  Conclusion  70 

PART  II. 

SECT.  I.  Of  the  passion  caused  by  the  Sublime  77 
SECT.  II.  Terror  78 
SECT.  III.  Obscurity  80 
SECT.  IV.  Of  the  difference  between  Clearness  and 
Obscurity  with  regard  to  the  Passions  82 
SECT.  [IV.]  The  same  subject  continued  83 
SECT.  V.  Power  89 
SECT.  VI.  Privation  100 
SECT.  VII.  Vastness  102 
SECT.  VIII.  Infinity.  104 
SECT.  IX.  Succession  and  Uniformity  106 
SECT.  X.  Magnitude  in  Building  109 
SECT.  XI.  Infinity  in  pleasing  Objects  110 
SECT.  XII.  Difficulty  111 
SECT.  XIII.  Magnificence  112 
SECT.  XIV.  Light  115 
SECT.  XV.  Light  in  Building  117 
SECT.  XVI.  Colour  considered  as  productive  of  the 
Sublime  118 
SECT.  XVII.  Sound  and  Loudness  120 
SECT.  XVIII.  Suddenness  121 
SECT.  XIX.  Intermitting  122 
SECT.  XX.  The  Cries  of  Animals  123 
SECT.  XXI.  Smell  and  Taste.  Bitters  and  Sten- 
ches 124 
SECT.  XXII.     Feeling.     Pain.  127 


CONTENTS. 

PART  III. 
SECT.  I.     Of  Beauty  129 

SECT.    II.     Proportion  not  the  cause  of  Beauty  in 
Vegetables  131 

SECT.  III.     Proportion  not  the  cause  of  Beauty  in 
Animals  137 

SE  CT.  IV.     Proportion  not  the  cause  of  Beauty  in  the 
human  species  139 

SECT.   V.     Proportion  further  considered  149 

SECT.  VI.     Fitness  not  the  cause  of  Beauly  153 

SECT.  VII.     The  real  effects  of  Fitness  158 

SECT.  VIII.     The  Recapitulation  162 

SECT.  IX.  Perfection  not  the  cause  of  Beauty  163 
SECT.  X.  How  far  the  idea  of  Beauty  may  be  ap- 
plied to  the  qualities  of  the  mind  164 
SECT.  XI.  How  far  the  idea  of  Beauty  may  be  ap- 
plied to  virtue  166 
SECT.  XII.  The  real  cause  of  Beauty  167 
SECT.  XIII.  Beautiful  objects  small  168 
SECT.  XIV.  Smoothness  1^0 
SECT.  XV.  Gradual  Variation  171 
SECT.  XVI.  Delicacy  1~4 
SECT.  XVII.  Beauty  in  Colour  175 
SECT.  XVIII.  Recapitulation  I77 
SECT.  XIX.  The  Physiognomy  178 
SECT.  XX.  The  Eye  178 
SECT.  XXI.  Ugliness  Igg 
SECT.  XXII.  Grace  180 
SECT.  XXIII.  Elegance  and  Speciousness  181 
SECT.  XXIV  The  Beautiful  in  Feeling  i89 
SECT.  XXV.  The  Beautiful  in  Sounds  185 
SECT.  XXVI.  Taste  and  Smell  188 
SECT.  XXVII.  The  Sublime  and  Beautiful  com- 
pared                                                                     189 


SECT. 

I.     « 

Beautiful 

SECT. 

II. 

SECT. 

III. 

SECT. 

IV. 

SECT. 

V. 

SECT. 

VI. 

SECT. 

VII. 

gans 

SECT. 

VII 

CONTENTS, 

PART  IV. 
Of  the  efficient  cause  of  the  Sublime  and 

193 
Association  196 

Cause  of  Pain  and  fear  197 

Continued  200 

How  the  Sublime  is  produced  202 

How  pain  can  be  a  cause  of  delight   203 
Exercise  necessary  for   the  finer    Or- 

205 
I.     Why  thing's  not  dangerous  sometimes 
produce  a  passion  like  Terror  206 

SECT.  IX.     Why  visual  objects  of  great  dimensions 
are  Sublime  207 

SECT.  X.    Unity,  why  requisite  to  vastness  209 

SECT.  XL     The  artificial  Infinite  211 

SECT.  XII.     The  vibrations  must  be  similar         213 
SECT.  XIII.  The  effects  of  succession  in  visual  objects 
explained  214 

SECT.  XIV.     Locke's  opinion  concerning  Darkness 
considered  218 

SECT.  XV.     Darkness  terrible  in  its  own  nature  220 
SECT.  XVI.     Why  darkness  is  terrible  222 

SECT.  XVII.     The  effects  of  Blackness  224 

SECT.  XVIII.  The  effects  of  Blackness  modera- 
ted 227 
SECT.  XIX.  The  physical  cause  of  Love  229 
SECT.  XX.  Why  Smoothness  is  beautiful  231 
SECT.  XXI.  Sweetness,  its  nature  233 
SECT.  XXII.  Sweetness  relaxing  237 
SECT.  XXIII.  Variation  why  beautiful  239 
SECT.  XXIV.  Concerning  Smallness  241 
SECT.  XXV.     Of  Colour                                         246 


CONTENTS. 

PART  V. 

SECT.  I.     Of  Words  24S 

SECT.  II.     The   common   effect  of  Poetry,   not  by 

raising-  ideas  of  Things  250 

SECT.  III.     General  words  before  ideas  253 

SECT.  IV.     The  effects  of  Words  256 

SECT.  V.     Examples  that  words  may  affect  without 

raising-  images.  258 

SECT.  VI.  Poetry  not  strictly  an  imitative  art  266 
SECT.  VII.     How  Words  influence  the  Passions  267 


INTRODUCTION. 

ON 

TASTE. 


ON  a  superficial  view,  we  may  seem  to  differ 
very  widely  from  each  other  in  our  reason- 
ings, and  no  less  in  our  pleasures  :  but,  not- 
withstanding this  difference,  which  I  think  to 
be  rather  apparent  than  real,  it  is  probable 
that  the  standard  both  of  Reason  and  Taste  is 
the  same  in  all  human  creatures  ;  for,  if  there 
were  not  some  principles  of  judgment  as  well 
as  of  sentiment  common  to  all  mankind,  no 
hold  could  possibly  be  taken  either  on  their 
reason  or  their  passions,  sufficient  to  maintain 
the  ordinary  correspondence  of  life.      It  ap- 

A  2 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

pears,  indeed,  to  be  generally  acknowledged, 
that  with  regard  to  truth  and  falsehood  there 
is  something  fixed.  We  find  people  in  their 
disputes  continually  appealing  to  certain  tests 
and  standards,  which  are  allowed  on  all  sides, 
and  are  supposed  to  be  established  in  our  com- 
mon nature.  But  there  is  not  the  same  ob- 
vious concurrence  in  any  uniform  or  settled 
principles  which  relate  to  Taste.  It  is  even 
commonly  supposed  that  this  delicate  and 
aerial  faculty,  which  seems  too  volatile  to  en- 
dure even  the  chains  of  a  definition,  cannot  be 
properly  tried  by  any  test,  nor  regulated  by 
any  standard.  There  is  so  continual  a  call 
for  the  exercise  of  the  reasoning  faculty,  and 
it  is  so  much  strengthened  by  perpetual  con- 
tention, that  certain  maxims  of  right  reason 
seem  to  be  tacitly  settled  amongst  the  most 
ignorant.  The  learned  have  improved  on  this 
rude  science,  and  reduced  those  maxims  into 
a  system.  If  Taste  has  not  been  so  happily 
cultivated,  it  was  not  that  the  subject  was  bar- 
ren, but  that  the  labourers  were  few  or  negli- 
gent ;  for,  to  say  the  truth,  there  are  not  the 
same  interesting  motives  to  impel  us  to  fix  the 
one,  which  urge  us  to  ascertain  the  other. 
And,  after  all,  if  men  differ  in  their  opinion 


ON  TASTE.  3 

concerning  such  matters,  their  difference  is 
not  attended  with  the  same  important  conse- 
quences ;  else  I  make  no  doubt  but  that  the 
logic  of  Taste,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  ex- 
pression, might  very  possibly  be  as  well  di- 
gested, and  we  might  come  to  discuss  matters 
of  this  nature  with  as  much  certainty,  as  those 
which  seem  more  immediatelj  within  the  pro- 
vince of  mere  reason.  And  indeed  it  is  very 
necessary,  at  the  entrance  into  such  an  in- 
quiry as  our  present,  to  make  this  point  as 
clear  as  possible  ;  for  if  Taste  has  no  fixed 
principles,  if  the  imagination  is  not  affected 
according  to  some  invariable  and  certain  laws, 
our  labour  is  like  to  be  employed  to  very  lit- 
tle purpose;  as  it  must  be  judged  an  useless, 
if  not  an  absurd,  undertaking,  to  lay  down 
rules  for  caprice,  and  to  set  up  for  a  legis- 
lator of  whims  and  fancies. 

The  term  Taste,  like  all  other  figurative 
terms,  is  not  extremely  accurate:  the  thing 
which  we  understand  by  it  is  far  from  a  sim- 
ple and  determinate  idea  in  the  minds  of  most 
men,  and  it  is  therefore  liable  to  uncertainty 
and  confusion.  I  have  no  great  opinion  of  a 
definition,  the  celebrated  remedy  for  the  cure 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

of  this  disorder.  For,  when  we  define,  we 
seem  in  danger  of  circumscribing  nature 
within  the  bounds  of  our  own  notions,  which 
we  often  take  up  by  hazard,  or  embrace  on 
trust,  or  form  out  of  a  limited  and  partial  con- 
sideration of  the  object  before  us,  instead  of 
extending  our  ideas  to  take  in  all  that  nature 
comprehends,  according  to  her  manner  of 
combining.  We  are  limited  in  our  inquiry 
by  the  strict  laws  to  which  we  have  submitted 
at  our  setting  out. 

Circa  vilem  patulumque  morabimnr  orbem, 
Unde  pudor  proferre  pedem  vetat  aut  operis  lex. 

A  definition  may  be  very  exact,  and  yet  go 
but  a  very  little  way  towards  informing  us  of 
the  nature  of  the  thing  defined ;  but  let  the 
virtue  of  a  definition  be  what  it  will,  in  the 
order  of  things,  it  seems  rather  to  follow  than 
to  precede  our  inquiry,  of  which  it  ought  to 
be  considered  as  the  result.  It  must  be  ac- 
knowledged, that  the  methods  of  disquisition 
and  teaching  may  be  sometimes  different,  and 
on  very  good  reason  undoubtedly  ;  but,  for 
my  p^rt,  I  am  convinced  that  the  method  of 
teaching  which  approaches  most  nearly  to  the 
method  of  investigation  is  incomparably  the 


ON  TASTE.  5 

best;  since,  not  content  with  serving  up  a 
few  barren  and  lifeless  truths,  it  leads  to  the 
stock  on  which  they  grew ;  it  tends  to  set  the 
reader  himself  in  the  track  of  invention,  and 
to  direct  him  into  those  paths  in  which  the 
author  has  made  his  own  discoveries,  if  he 
should  be  so  happy  as  to  have  made  any  that 
are  valuable. 

But,  to  cut  off  all  pretence  for  cavilling,  I 
mean  by  the  word  Taste  no  more  than  that  fa- 
culty or  those  faculties  of  the  mind  which  are 
affected  with,  or  which  form  a  judgment  of, 
the  works  of  imagination  and  the  elegant  arts. 
This  is,  I  think,  the  most  general  idea  of  that 
word,  and  what  is  the  least  connected  with 
any  particular  theory.  And  my  point,  in  this 
inquiry,  is  to  find  whether  there  are  any 
principles,  on  which  the  imagination  is  affect- 
ed, so  common  to  all,  so  grounded  and  cer- 
tain, as  to  supply  the  means  of  reasoning  sa- 
tisfactorily about  them.  And  such  principles 
of  Taste  I  fancy  there  are,  however  paradox- 
ical it  may  seem  to  those  who,  on  a  superfi- 
cial view,  imagine  that  there  is  so  great  a  di- 
versity of  Tastes,  both  in  kind  and  degree, 
that  nothing  can  be  more  indeterminate. 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

All  the  natural  powers  in  man,  which  I 
know,  that  are  conversant  about  external  ob- 
jects, are  the  senses,  the  imagination,  and  the 
judgment.  And,  first,  with  regard  to  the 
Senses.  We  do,  and  we  must,  suppose,  that, 
as  the  conformation  of  their  organs  are  nearly 
or  altogether  the  same  in  all  men,  so  the  man- 
ner of  perceiving  external  objects  is  in  all 
men  the  same,  or  with  little  difference.  We 
are  satisfied  that  what  appears  to  be  light  to 
one  eye  appears  light  to  another;  that  what 
seems  sweet  to  one  palate,  is  sweet  to  another; 
that  what  is  dark  and  bitter  to  this  man,  is 
likewise  dark  and  bitter  to  that:  and  we  con- 
clude in  the  same  manner  of  great  and  little, 
hard  and  soft,  hot  and  cold,  rough  and 
smooth,  and  indeed  of  all  the  natural  quali- 
ties and  affections  of  bodies.  If  we  suffer 
ourselves  to  imagine  that  their  senses  present 
to  different  men  different  images  of  things, 
this  sceptical  proceeding  will  make  every 
sort  of  reasoning,  on  every  subject,  vain  and 
frivolous,  even  that  sceptical  reasoning  itself 
which  had  persuaded  us  to  entertain  a  doubt 
concerning  the  agreement  of  our  perceptions. 
But,  as  there  will  be  little  doubt  that  bodies 
present  similar  images  to  the  whole  species, 


ON  TASTE.  7 

it  must  necessarily  be  allowed,  that  the  plea- 
sures and  the  pains  which  every  object  ex- 
cites in  one  man,  it  must  raise  in  all  mankind, 
whilst  it  operates  naturally,  simply,  and  by 
its  proper  powers  only •  for,  if  we  deny  this, 
we  must  imagine  that  the  same  cause,  operat- 
ing in  the  same  manner,  and  on  subjects  of 
the  same  kind,  will  produce  different  effects, 
which  would  be  highly  absurd.  Let  us  first 
consider  this  point  in  the  sense  of  Taste,  and 
the  rather  as  the  faculty  in  question  has  taken 
its  name  from  that  sense.  All  men  are  agreed 
to  call  vinegar  sour,  honey  sweet,  and  aloes 
bitter :  and  as  they  are  all  agreed  in  finding 
these  qualities  in  those  objects,  they  do  not  in 
the  least  differ  concerning  their  effects  with 
regard  to  pleasure  and  pain.  They  all  con- 
cur in  calling  sweetness  pleasant,  and  sourness 
and  bitterness  unpleasant.  Here  there  is  no 
diversity  in  their  sentiments ;  and  that  there 
is  not,  appears  fully  from  the  consent  of  all 
men  in  the  metaphors  which  are  taken  from 
the  sense  of  Taste.  A  sour  temper,  bitter 
expressions,  bitter  curses,  a  bitter  fate,  are 
terms  well  and  strongly  understood  by  all. 
And  we  are  altogether  as  well  understood 
when  we  say,  a  sweet  disposition,  a  sweet 


8  INTRODUCTION 

person,  a  sweet  condition,  and  the  like.  It 
is  confessed,  that  custom,  and  some  oJier 
causes,  have  made  many  deviations  from  the 
natural  pleasures  or  pains  which  belong  to 
these  several  Tastes ;  but  then  the  power  of 
distinguishing  between  the  natural  and  the 
acquired  relish  remains  to  the  very  last.  A 
man  frequently  comes  to  prefer  the  taste  of 
tobacco  to  that  of  sugar,  and  the  flavour  of 
vinegar  to  that  of  milk;  but  this  makes  no 
confusion  in  Tastes,  whilst  he  is  sensible  that 
the  tobacco  and  vinegar  are  not  sweet,  and 
whilst  he  knows  that  habit  alone  has  recon- 
ciled his  palate  to  these  alien  pleasures.  Even 
with  such  a  person  we  may  speak,  and  with 
sufficient  precision,  concerning  Tastes.  But 
should  any  man  be  found,  who  declares  that 
to  him  tobacco  has  a  Taste  like  sugar,  and 
that  he  cannot  distinguish  between  milk  and 
vinegar ;  or  that  tobacco  and  vinegar  are 
sweet,  milk  bitter,  and  sugar  sour;  we  imme- 
diately conclude  that  the  organs  of  this  man 
are  out  of  order,  and  that  his  palate  is  utterly 
vitiated.  We  are  as  far  from  conferring 
with  such  a  person  upon  Tastes,  as  from  rea- 
soning concerning  the  relations  of  quantity 
with  one  who  should  deny  that  all  the  parts 


ON   TASTE.  9 

together  were  equal  to  the  whole.  We  do 
not  call  a  man  of  this  kind  wrong  in  his  no- 
tions, but  absolutely  mad.  Exceptions  of  this 
sort,  in  either  way,  do  not  at  all  impeach  our 
general  rule,  nor  make  us  conclude  that  men 
have  various  principles  concerning  the  rela- 
tions of  quantity,  or  the  Taste  of  things.  So 
that  when  it  is  said,  Taste  cannot  be  dis- 
puted, it  can  only  mean,  that  no  one  can  strictly 
answer  what  pleasure  or  pain  some  particular 
man  may  find  from  the  Taste  of  some  par- 
ticular thing.  This,  indeed,  cannot  be  dis- 
puted; but  we  may  dispute,  and  with  suf- 
ficient clearness  too,  concerning  the  things 
which  are  naturally  pleasing  or  disagreeable 
to  the  sense.  But  when  we  talk  of  any  pecu- 
liar or  acquired  relish,  then  we  must  know 
the  habits,  the  prejudices,  or  the  distempers 
of  this  particular  man,  and  we  must  draw  our 
conclusion  from  those. 

This  agreement  of  mankind  is  not  confined 
to  the  Taste  solely.  The  principle  of  plea- 
sure derived  from  sight  is  the  same  in  all. 
Light  is  more  pleasing  than  darkness.  Sum- 
mer, when  the  earth  is  clad  in  green,  when 
the  heavens  are  serene  and  bright,  is  more 
B 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

agreeable  than  winter,  when  every  thing  makes 
a  different  appearance.  I  never  remember 
that  any  thing  beautiful,  whether  a  man,  a 
beast,  a  bird,  or  a  plant,  was  ever  shown, 
though  it  wTere  to  an  hundred  people,  that 
they  did  not  all  immediately  agree  that  it  was 
beautiful,  though  some  might  have  thought 
that  it  fell  short  of  their  expectation,  or  that 
other  things  were  still  finer.  I  believe  no  man 
thinks  a  goos*.  to  be  more  beautiful  than  a 
swan,  or  imagines  that  what  they  call  a  Friez- 
land  hen  excels  a  peacock.  It  must  be  ob- 
served too,  that  the  pleasures  of  the  sight  are 
not  near  so  complicated,  and  confused,  and 
altered  by  unnatural  habits  and  associations, 
as  the  pleasures  of  the  Taste  are;  because 
the  pleasures  of  the  sight  more  commonly 
acquiesce  in  themselves,  and  are  not  so  often 
altered  by  considerations  which  are  independ- 
ent of  the  sight  itself.  But  things  do  not 
spontaneously  present  themselves  to  the  pa- 
late as  they  do  to  the  sight:  they  are  gene- 
rally applied  to  it,  either  as  food  or  as  me- 
dicine; and,  from  the  qualities  which  they 
possess  for  nutritive  or  medicinal  purposes, 
they  often  form  the  palate  by  degrees,  and  by 
force  of  these  associations.    Thus,  opium  is 


ON   TASTE.  11 

pleasing  to  Turks,  on  account  of  the  agree- 
able delirium  it  produces.  Tobacco  is  the 
delight  of  Dutchmen;  as  it  diffuses  a  torpor 
and  pleasing  stupefaction.  Fermented  spirits 
please  our  common  people,  because  they  ba- 
nish care,  and  all  considerations  of  future  or 
present  evils.  All  of  these  would  lie  abso- 
lutely neglected,  if  their  properties  had  origi- 
nally gone  no  further  than  the  Taste ;  but  all 
these,  together  with  tea  and  coffee,  and  some 
other  things,  have  passed  from  the  apothe- 
cary's shop  to  our  tables,  and  were  taken  for 
health  long  before  they  were  thought  of  for 
pleasure.  The  effect  of  the  drug  has  made 
us  use  it  frequently;  and  frequent  use,  com- 
bined with  the  agreeable  effect,  has  made  the 
Taste  itself  at  last  agreeable.  But  this  does 
not  in  the  least  perplex  our  reasoning;  be- 
cause we  distinguish  to  the  last  the  acquired 
from  the  natural  relish.  In  describing  the 
Taste  of  an  unknown  fruit,  you  would  scarce- 
ly say  that  it  had  a  sweet  and  pleasant  flavour 
like  tobacco,  opium,  or  garlic,  although  you 
spoke  to  those  who  were  in  the  constant  use 
of  these  drugs,  and  had  great  pleasure  in 
them.  There  is  in  all  men  a  sufficient  re- 
membrance of  the  original  natural  causes  of 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

pleasure,  to  enable  them  to  bring  all  things 
offered  to  their  senses  to  that  standard,  and 
to  regulate  their  feelings  and  opinions  by  it. 
Suppose  one,  who  had  so  vitiated  his  palate  as 
to  take  more  pleasure  in  the  Taste  of  opium 
than  in  that  of  butter  or  honey,  to  be  present- 
ed with  a  bolus  of  squills  ;  there  is  hardly 
any  doubt  but  that  he  would  prefer  the  butter 
or  honey  to  this  nauseous  morsel,  or  to  any 
other  bitter  drug  to  which  he  had  not  been 
accustomed  ;  which  proves  that  his  palate  was 
naturally  like  that  of  other  men  in  all  things, 
that  it  is  still  like  the  palate  of  other  men 
in  many  things,  and  only  vitiated  in  some 
particular  points.  For,  in  judging  of  any  new 
thing,  even  of  a  Taste  similar  to  that  which 
he  has  been  formed  by  habit  to  like,  he  finds 
his  palate  affected  in  the  natural  manner,  and 
on  the  common  principles.  Thus  the  plea- 
sure of  all  the  senses,  of  the  sight,  and  even 
of  the  Taste,  that  most  ambiguous  of  the 
senses,  is  the  same  in  all,  high  and  low,  learn- 
ed and  unlearned. 

Besides  the  ideas,  with  their  annexed  pains 
and  pleasures,  which  are  presented  by  the 
sense,  the  mind  of  man  possesses  a  sort  of 


ON  TASTE.  13 

creative  power  of  its  own;  either  in  repre- 
senting at  pleasure  the  images  of  things  in  the 
order  and  manner  in  which  they  were  receiv- 
ed bv  the  senses,  or  in  combining  those  images 
in  a  new  manner,  and  according  to  a  different 
order.  This  power  is  called  Imagination : 
and  to  this  belongs  whatever  is  called  wit, 
fancy,  invention,  and  the  like.  But  it  must  be 
observed,  that  the  power  of  the  imagination 
is  incapable  of  producing  any  thing  absolutely 
new :  it  can  only  vary  the  disposition  of  those 
ideas  which  it  has  received  from  the  senses. 
Now,  the  imagination  is  the  most  extensive 
province  of  pleasure  and  pain,  as  it  is  the  re- 
gion of  our  fears  and  our  hopes,  and  of  all 
our  passions  that  are  connected  with  them ; 
and  whatever  is  calculated  to  affect  the  imagi- 
nation with  these  commanding  ideas,  by  force 
of  any  original  natural  impression,  must  have 
the  same  power,  pretty  equally,  over  all  men. 
For,  since  the  imagination  is  only  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  senses,  it  can  only  be  pleased 
or  displeased  with  the  images,  from  the  same 
principle  on  which  the  senses  are  pleased  or 
displeased  with  the  realities ;  and  consequently 
there  must  be  just  as  close  an  agreement  in 
the  imaginations  as  in  the  senses  of  men.    A 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

little  attention  will  convince  us  that  this  must 
of  necessity  be  the  case. 

But,  in  the  imagination,  besides  the  pain  or 
pleasure  arising  from  the  properties  of  the 
natural  object,  a  pleasure  is  perceived  from 
the  resemblance  which  the  imitation  has  to 
the  original:  the  imagination,  I  conceive,  can 
have  no  pleasure  but  what  results  from  one 
or  other  of  these  causes.  And  these  causes 
operate  pretty  uniformly  upon  all  men,  be- 
cause they  operate  by  principles  in  nature,  and 
which  are  not  derived  from  any  particular 
habits  or  advantage.  Mr.  Locke  very  justly 
<ind  finely  observes  of  wit,  that  it  is  chiefly 
conversant  in  tracing  resemblances:  he  re- 
marks, at  the  same  time,  that  the  business  of 
judgment  is  rather  in  finding  differences.  It 
may,  perhaps,  appear,  on  this  supposition,  that 
there  is  no  material  distinction  between  the 
wit  and  the  judgment,  as  they  both  seem  to 
result  from  different  operations  of  the  same 
faculty  of  comparing.  But,  in  reality,  whe- 
ther they  are  or  are  not  dependent  on  the 
same  power  of  the  mind,  they  differ  so  very 
materially  in  many  respects,  that  a  perfect 
union  of  wit  and  judgment  is  one  of  the 


ON   TASTE.  15 

rarest  things  in  the  world.  When  two  distinct 
objects  are  unlike  to  each  other,  it  is  only 
what  we  expect ;  things  are  in  their  common 
way ;  and  therefore  they  make  no  impression 
on  the  imagination:  but  when  two  distinct 
objects  have  a  resemblance,  we  are  struck,  we 
attend  to  them,  and  we  are  pleased.  The 
mind  of  man  has  naturally  a  far  greater  ala- 
crity and  satisfaction  in  tracing  resemblances 
than  in  searching  for  differences :  because,  by 
making  resemblances  we  produce  new  images; 
we  unite,  we  create,  we  enlarge  our  stock : 
but  in  making  distinctions  we  offer  no  food 
at  all  to  the  imagination;  the  task  itself  is 
more  severe  and  irksome,  and  what  pleasure 
we  derive  from  it  is  something  of  a  negative 
and  indirect  nature.  A  piece  of  news  is  told 
me  in  the  morning;  this,  merely  as  a  piece 
of  news,  as  a  fact  added  to  my  stock,  gives 
me  some  pleasure.  In  the  evening,  I  find  there 
was  nothing  in  it.  What  do  I  gain  by  this,  but 
the  dissatisfaction  to  find  that  I  had  been  im- 
posed upon  ?  Hence  it  is  that  men  are  much 
more  naturally  inclined  to  belief  than  to  in- 
credulity. And  it  is  upon  this  principle  that 
the  most  ignorant  and  barbarous  nations  have 
frequently  excelled  in  similitude,  comparisons, 


16  INTRODUCTION. 

metaphors,  and  allegories,  who  have  been 
weak  and  backward  in  distinguishing  and 
sorting  their  ideas.  And  it  is  for  a  reason  of 
this  kind  that  Homer  and  the  Oriental  writers, 
though  very  fond  of  similitudes,  and  though 
they  often  strike  out  such  as  are  truly  admir- 
able, they  seldom  take  care  to  have  them  ex- 
act; that  is,  they  are  taken  with  the  general 
resemblance,  they  paint  it  strongly,  and  they 
take  no  notice  of  the  difference  which  may  be 
found  between  the  things  compared. 

Now,  as  the  pleasure  of  resemblance  is 
that  which  principally  flatters  the  imagina- 
tion, all  men  are  nearly  equal  in  this  point, 
as  far  as  their  knowledge  of  the  things  repre- 
sented or  compared  extends.  The  principle 
of  this  knowledge  is  very  much  accidental ;  as 
it  depends  upon  experience  and  observation, 
and  not  on  the  strength  or  weakness  of  any 
natural  faculty ;  and  it  is  from  this  difference 
in  knowledge  that  what  we  commonly,  though 
with  no  great  exactness,  call  a  difference  in 
Taste,  proceeds.  A  man  to  whom  sculpture  is 
new,  sees  a  barber's  block,  or  some  ordinary 
piece  of  statuary:  he  is  immediately  struck 
and  pleased,  because  he  sees  something  like 


t)N  TASTE.  17 

an  human  figure  ;  and,  entirely  taken  up  with 
this  likeness,  he  does  not  at  all  attend  to  its 
defects.  No  person,  I  believe,  at  the  first  time 
of  seeing  a  piece  of  imitation,  ever  did.  Some 
time  after,  we  suppose  that  this  novice  lights 
upon  a  more  artificial  work  of  the  same  na- 
ture ;  he  now  begins  to  look  with  contempt  on 
what  he  admired  at  first :  not  that  he  admired 
it  even  then  for  its  unlikeness  to  a  man ;  but 
for  that  general,  though  inaccurate,  resem- 
blance which  it  bore  to  the  human  figure. 
What  he  admired,  at  different  times,  in  these 
so  different  figures,  is  strictly  the  same  ;  and, 
though  his  knowledge  is  improved,  his  Taste 
is  not  altered.  Hitherto  his  mistake  was  from 
a  want  of  knowledge  in  art,  and  this  arose 
from  his  inexperience ;  but  he  may  be  still 
deficient  from  a  want  of  knowledge  in  nature. 
For  it  is  possible  that  the  man  in  question 
may  stop  here,  and  that  the  master-piece  of 
a  great  hand  may  please  him  no  more  than  the 
middling  performance  of  a  vulgar  artist ;  and 
this  not  for  want  of  better  or  higher  relish, 
but  because  all  men  do  not  observe  with  suffi- 
cient accuracy  on  the  human  figure,  to  enable 
them  to  judge  properly  of  an  imitation  of  it. 
And  that  the  critical  Taste  does  not  depend 


18  INTRODUCTION. 

upon  a  superior  principle  in  men,  but  upon 
superior  knowledge,  may  appear  from  several 
instances.  The  story  of  the  ancient  painter  and 
the  shoemaker  is  very  well  known.  The  shoe- 
maker set  the  painter  right,  with  regard  to 
some  mistakes  he  had  made  in  the  shoe  of  one 
of  his  figures,  and  which  the  painter,  who  had 
not  made  such  accurate  observations  on  shoes, 
and  was  content  with  a  general  resemblance, 
had  never  observed.  But  this  was  no  im- 
peachment to  the  Taste  of  the  painter :  it  only 
shewed  some  want  of  knowledge  in  the  art  of 
making  shoes.  Let  us  imagine  that  an  ana- 
tomist had  come  into  the  painter's  working- 
room  :  his  piece  is  in  general  well  done ;  the 
figure  in  question  in  a  good  attitude,  and  the 
parts  well  adjusted  to  their  various  move- 
ments :  yet,  the  anatomist,  critical  in  his  art, 
may  observe  the  swell  of  some  muscle  not 
quite  just  in  the  peculiar  action  of  the  figure. 
Here  the  anatomist  observes  what  the  painter 
had  not  observed ;  and  he  passes  by  what  the 
shoemaker  had  remarked.  But  a  want  of  the 
last  critical  knowledge  in  anatomy  no  more 
reflected  on  the  natural  good  Taste  of  the 
painter,  or  of  any  common  observer  of  his 
piece,  than  the  want  of  an  exact  knowledge 


ON   TASTE.  19 

in  the  formation  of  a  shoe.  A  fine  piece  of  a 
decollated  head  of  St.  John  the  Baptist  was 
shown  to  a  Turkish  emperor :  he  praised 
many  things  ;  but  he  observed  one  defect :  he 
observed  that  the  skin  did  not  shrink  from  the 
wounded  part  of  the  neck.  The  sultan  on  this 
occasion,  though  his  observation  was  very  just, 
discovered  no  more  natural  Taste  than  the 
painter  who  executed  this  piece,  or  than  a 
thousand  European  connoisseurs,  who  pro- 
bably never  would  have  made  the  same  obser- 
vation. His  Turkish  majesty  had,  indeed, 
been  well  acquainted  with  that  terrible  spec- 
tacle, which  the  others  could  only  have  re- 
presented in  their  imagination.  On  the  subject 
of  their  dislike  there  is  a  difference  between 
all  these  people,  arising  from  the  different 
kinds  and  degrees  of  their  knowledge  ;  but 
there  is  something  in  common  to  the  painter, 
the  shoemaker,  the  anatomist,  and  the  Turk- 
ish emperor :  the  pleasure  arising  from  a  na- 
tural object,  so  far  as  each  perceives  it  just- 
ly imitated ;  the  satisfaction  in  seeing  an  a- 
greeable  figure ;  the  sympathy  proceeding 
from  a  striking  and  affecting  incident.  So 
far  as  Taste  is  natural,  it  is  nearly  common 
to  all. 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

In  poetry,  and  other  pieces  of  imagination, 
the  same  parity  may  be  observed.  It  is  true 
that  one  man  is  charmed  with  Don  Bellianis, 
and  reads  Virgil  coldly ;  whilst  another  is 
transported  with  the  iEneid,  and  leaves  Don 
Bellianis  to  children.  These  two  men  seem 
to  have  a  Taste  very  different  from  each 
other ;  but,  in  fact,  they  differ  very  little.  In 
both  these  pieces,  which  inspire  such  opposite 
sentiments,  a  tale  exciting  admiration  is  told ; 
both  are  full  of  action,  both  are  passionate ; 
in  both  are  voyages,  battles,  triumphs,  and 
continual  changes  of  fortune.  The  admirer  of 
Don  Bellianis,  perhaps,  does  not  understand 
the  refined  language  of  the  iEneid,  who,  if  it 
was  degraded  into  the  style  of  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  might  feel  it  in  all  its  energy,  on 
the  same  principle  which  made  him  an  ad- 
mirer of  Don  Bellianis. 

In  his  favourite  author  he  is  not  shocked 
with  the  continual  breaches  of  probability,  the 
confusion  of  times,  the  offences  against  man- 
ners, the  trampling  upon  geography ;  for  he 
knows  nothing  of  geography  and  chronology, 
and  he  has  never  examined  the  grounds  of  pro- 
bability.   He,  perhaps,  reads  of  a  shipwreck 


ON  TASTE.  21 

on  the  coast  of  Bohemia:  wholly  taken  up 
with  so  interesting  an  event,  and  only  so- 
licitous for  the  fate  of  his  hero,  he  is  not  in 
the  least  troubled  at  this  extravagant  blunder. 
For  why  should  he  be  shocked  at  a  shipwreck 
on  the  coast  of  Bohemia,  who  does  not  know 
but  that  Bohemia  may  be  an  island  in  the  At- 
lantic ocean  ?  And,  after  all,  what  reflection 
is  this  on  the  natural  good  Taste  of  the  per- 
son here  supposed  ? 

So  far,  then,  as  Taste  belongs  to  the  ima- 
gination, its  principle  is  the  same  in  all  men : 
there  is  no  difference  in  the  manner  of  their 
being  affected,  nor  in  the  causes  of  the  affec- 
tion ;  but  in  the  degree  there  is  a  difference, 
which  arises  from  two  causes  principally : 
either  from  a  greater  degree  of  natural  sensi- 
bility, or  from  a  closer  and  longer  attention 
to  the  object.  To  illustrate  this  by  the  pro- 
cedure of  the  senses,  in  which  the  same  differ- 
ence is  found,  let  us  suppose  a  very  smooth 
marble  table  to  be  set  before  two  men  :  they 
both  perceive  it  to  be  smooth,  and  they  are 
both  pleased  with  it  because  of  this  quality. 
So  far  they  agree.     But  suppose  another,  and 


22  INTRODUCTION. 

after  that  another,  table,  the  latter  still  smooth- 
er than  the  former,  to  be  set  before  them.  It 
is  now  very  probable  that  these  men,  who  are 
so  agreed  upon  what  is  smooth,  and  in  the 
pleasure  from  thence,  will  disagree  when 
they  come  to  settle  which  table  has  the  ad- 
vantage in  point  of  polish.  Here  is,  indeed, 
the  great  difference  between  Tastes,  when 
men  come  to  compare  the  excess  or  diminu- 
tion of  things  which  are  judged  by  de- 
gree and  not  by  measure.  Nor  is  it  easy, 
when  such  a  difference  arises,  to  settle  the 
point,  if  the  excess  or  diminution  be  not  glar- 
ing. If  we  differ  in  opinion  about  two  quan- 
tities, we  can  have  recourse  to  a  common 
measure,  which  may  decide  the  question 
with  the  utmost  exactness  j  and  this,  I  take 
it,  is  what  gives  mathematical  knowledge 
a  greater  certainty  than  any  other.  But, 
in  things  whose  excess  is  not  judged  by 
greater  or  smaller,  as  smoothness  and  rough- 
ness, hardness  and  softness,  darkness  and 
light,  the  shades  of  colours,  all  these  are  very 
easily  distinguished  when  the  difference  is  any 
way  considerable,  but  not  when  it  is  minute, 
for  want  of  some  common  measures,  which, 


ON   TASTE.  23 

perhaps,  may  never  come  to  be  discovered. 
In  these  nice  cases,  supposing  the  acuteness 
of  the  sense  equal,  the  greater  attention  and 
habit  in  such  things  will  have  the  advantage. 
In  the  question  about  the  tables,  the  marble- 
polisher  will  unquestionably  determine  the 
most  accurately.  But,  notwithstanding  this 
want  of  a  common  measure  for  settling  many 
disputes  relative  to  the  senses  and  their  repre- 
sentative the  imagination,  we  find  that  the 
principles  are  the  same  in  all,  and  that  there 
is  no  disagreement  until  we  come  to  examine 
into  the  pre-eminence  or  difference  of  things, 
which  brings  us  within  the  province  of  the 
judgment. 

So  long  as  we  are  conversant  with  the  sen- 
sible qualities  of  things,  hardly  any  more 
than  the  imagination  seems  concerned  :  little 
more  also  than  the  imagination  seems  con- 
cerned when  the  passions  are  represented,  be- 
cause, by  the  force  of  natural  sympathy,  they 
are  felt  in  all  men  without  any  recourse  to 
reasoning,  and  their  justness  recognized  in 
every  breast.  Love,  grief,  fear,  anger,  joy, 
all  these  passions  have  in  their  turns  affected 
every  mind ;  and  they  do  not  affect  it  in  an 


24  INTRODUCTION. 

arbitrary  or  casual  manner,  but  upon  certain, 
natural,  and  uniform  principles.  But,  as 
many  of  the  works  of  imagination  are  not 
confined  to  the  representation  of  sensible  ob- 
jects, nor  to  efforts  upon  the  passions,  but 
extend  themselves  to  the  manners,  the  cha- 
racters, the  actions,  and  designs,  of  men,  their 
relations,  their  virtues  and  vices,  they  come 
within  the  province  of  the  judgment,  which 
is  improved  by  attention  and  by  the  habit  of 
reasoning.  All  these  make  a  very  consider- 
able part  of  what  are  considered  as  the  objects 
of  Taste ;  and  Horace  sends  us  to  the  schools 
of  philosophy  and  the  world  for  our  instruc- 
tion of  them.  Whatever  certainty  is  to  be 
acquired  in  morality  and  the  science  of  life, 
just  the  same  degree  of  certainty  have  we  in 
what  relates  to  them  in  works  of  imitation. 
Indeed,  it  is  for  the  most  part  in  our  skill  in 
manners,  and  in  the  observances  of  time  and 
place,  and  of  decency  in  general,  which  is 
only  to  be  learned  in  those  schools  to  which 
Horace  recommends  us,  that  what  is  called 
Taste,  by  way  of  distinction,  consists;  and 
which  is  in  reality  no  other  than  a  more  re- 
fined judgment.  On  the  whole,  it  appears  to 
me  that  what  is  called  Taste,  in  its  most  ge- 


ON   TASTE.  25 

neral  acceptation,  is  not  a  simple  idea,  but  is 
partly  made  up  of  a  perception  of  the  pri- 
mary pleasures  of  sense,  of  the  secondary 
pleasures  of  the  imagination,  and  of  the  con- 
clusions of  the  reasoning  faculty,  concerning 
the  various  relations  of  these,  and  concerning 
the  human  passions,  manners,  and  actions. 
All  this  is  requisite  to  form  Taste  ;  and  the 
ground-work  of  all  these  is  the  same  in  the 
human  mind :  for,  as  the  senses  are  the  great 
originals  of  all  our  ideas,  and  consequently 
of  all  our  pleasures,  if  they  are  not  uncertain 
and  arbitrary,  the  whole  ground-work  of 
Taste  is  common  to  all,  and  therefore  there 
is  a  sufficient  foundation  for  a  conclusive  rea- 
soning on  these  matters. 

Whilst  we  consider  Taste  merely  accord- 
ing to  its  nature  and  species,  we  shall  find  its 
principles  entirely  uniform;  but  the  degree 
in  which  these  principles  prevail,  in  the  seve- 
ral individuals  of  mankind,  is  altogether  as 
different  as  the  principles  themselves  are  simi- 
lar. For  sensibility  and  judgment,  which  are 
the  qualities  that  compose  what  we  commonly 
call  a  Taste,  vary  exceedingly  in  various  peo- 
ple. From  a  defect  in  the  former  of  these 
C  2 


26  INTRODUCTION. 

qualities  arises  a  want  of  Taste  ;  a  weakness 
in  the  latter  constitutes  a  wrong  or  a  bad  one. 
There  are  some  men  formed  with  feelings  so 
blunt,  with  tempers  so  cold  and  phlegmatic, 
that  they  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  awake  dur- 
ing the  whole  course  of  their  lives.  Upon 
such  persons,  the  most  striking  objects  make 
but  a  faint  and  obscure  impression.  There 
are  others  so  continually  in  the  agitation  of 
gross  and  merely  sensual  pleasures,  or  so  oc- 
cupied in  the  low  drudgery  of  avarice,  or  so 
heated  in  the  chace  of  honours  and  distinc- 
tion, that  their  minds,  which  had  been  used 
continually  to  the  storms  of  these  violent  and 
tempestuous  passions,  can  hardly  be  put  in 
motion  by  the  delicate  and  refined  play  of  the 
imagination.  These  men,  though  from  a  dif- 
ferent cause,  become  as  stupid  and  insensible 
as  the  former ;  but,  whenever  either  of  these 
happen  to  be  struck  with  any  natural  elegance 
or  greatness,  or  with  these  qualities  in  any 
work  of  art,  they  are  moved  upon  the  same 
principle. 

The  cause  of  a  wrong  Taste  is  a  defect  of 
judgment.  And  this  may  arise  from  a  na- 
tural weakness  of  understanding,  in  whatever 


ON  TASTE.  27 

the  strength  of  that  faculty  may  consist ;  or, 
which  is  much  more  commonly  the  case,  it 
may  arise  from  a  want  of  proper  and  well- 
directed  exercise,  which  alone  can  make  it 
strong  and  ready.  Besides,  that  ignorance, 
inattention,  prejudice,  rashness,  levity,  obsti- 
nacy, in  short,  all  those  passions,  and  all 
those  vices,  which  pervert  the  judgment  in 
other  matters,  prejudice  it  no  less  in  this  its 
more  refined  and  elegant  province.  These 
causes  produce  different  opinions  upon  every 
thing  which  is  an  object  of  the  understand- 
ing, without  inducing  us  to  suppose  that  there 
are  no  settled  principles  of  reason.  And  in- 
deed, on  the  whole,  one  may  observe,  that 
there  is  rather  less  difference  upon  matters  of 
Taste  among  mankind,  than  upon  most  of 
those  which  depend  upon  the  naked  reason ; 
and  that  men  are  far  better  agreed  on  the  ex- 
cellence of  a  description  in  Virgil  than  on 
the  truth  or  falsehood  of  a  theory  of  Aris- 
totle. 

A  rectitude  of  judgment  in  the  arts,  which 
may  be  called  a  good  Taste,  does  in  a  great 
measure  depend  upon  sensibility ;  because,  if 
the  mind  has  no  bent  to  the  pleasures  of  the 


28  INTRODUCTION. 

imagination,  it  will  never  apply  itself  suffi- 
ciently to  works  of  that  species  to  acquire  a 
competent  knowledge  in  them.  But,  though 
a  degree  of  sensibility  is  requisite  to  form  a 
good  judgment,  yet  a  good  judgment  does  not 
necessarily  arise  from  a  quick  sensibility  of 
pleasure :  it  frequently  happens  that  a  very 
poor  judge,  merely  by  force  of  a  greater  com- 
plexional  sensibility,  is  more  affected  by  a 
very  poor  piece  than  the  best  judge  by  the 
most  perfect ;  for,  as  every  thing  new,  extra- 
ordinary, grand,  or  passionate,  is  well  calcu- 
lated to  affect  such  a  person,  and  that  the 
faults  do  not  affect  him,  his  pleasure  is  more 
pure  and  unmixed ;  and,  as  it  is  merely  a 
pleasure  of  the  imagination,  it  is  much  higher 
than  any  which  is  derived  from  a  rectitude  of 
the  judgment :  the  judgment  is  for  the  greater 
part  employed  in  throwing  stumbling-blocks 
in  the  way  of  the  imagination,  in  dissipating 
the  scenes  of  its  enchantment,  and  in  tying 
us  down  to  the  disagreeable  yoke  of  our  rea- 
son; for  almost  the  only  pleasure  that  men 
have  in  judging  better  than  others  consists  in 
a  sort  of  conscious  pride  and  superiority, 
which  arises  from  thinking  rightly ;  but  then 
this  is  an  indirect  pleasure  ;  a  pleasure  which 


ON   TASTE.  29 

does  not  immediately  result  from  the  object 
which  is  under  contemplation.  In  the  morn- 
ing of  our  days,  when  the  senses  are  unworn 
and  tender,  when  the  whole  man  is  awake  in 
every  part,  and  the  gloss  of  novelty  fresh 
upon  all  the  objects  that  surround  us,  how 
lively  at  that  time  are  our  sensations,  but  how 
false  and  inaccurate  the  judgments  we  form  of 
things  !  I  despair  of  ever  receiving  the  same 
degree  of  pleasure,  from  the  most  excellent 
performances  of  genius,  which  I  felt  at  that 
age,  from  pieces  which  my  present  judgment 
regards  as  trifling  and  contemptible.  Every 
trivial  cause  of  pleasure  is  apt  to  affect  the 
man  of  too  sanguine  a  complexion  :  his  appe- 
tite is  too  keen  to  suffer  his  Taste  to  be  deli- 
cate ;  and  he  is,  in  all  respects,  what  Ovid 
says  of  himself,  in  love  : 

Molle  meum  levibus  cor  est  violabile  telis, 
Et  semper  causa  est,  cur  ego  semper  amem. 

One  of  this  character  can  never  be  a  refined 
judge  ;  never  what  the  comic  poet  calls  ek- 
gans  formarum  spectator.  The  excellence 
and  force  of  a  composition  must  always  be 
imperfectly  estimated  from  its  effect  on  the 
minds  of  any,   except  we  know  the  temper 


30  INTRODUCTION. 

and  character  of  those  minds.  The  most 
powerful  effects  of  poetry  and  music  have 
been  displayed,  and  perhaps  are  still  display- 
ed, where  these  arts  are  but  in  a  very  low  and 
imperfect  state.  The  rude  hearer  is  affected 
by  the  principles  which  operate  in  these  arts, 
even  in  their  rudest  condition  ;  and  he  is  not 
skilful  enough  to  perceive  the  defects.  But, 
as  arts  advance  towards  their  perfection,  the 
science  of  criticism  advances  with  equal  pace, 
and  the  pleasure  of  judges  is  frequently  inter- 
rupted by  the  faults  which  are  discovered  in 
the  most  finished  compositions. 

Before  I  leave  this  subject,  I  cannot  help 
taking  notice  of  an  opinion  which  many  per- 
sons entertain,  as  if  the  Taste  were  a  separate 
faculty  of  the  mind,  and  distinct  from  the 
judgment  and  imagination ;  a  species  of  in- 
stinct, by  which  we  are  struck  naturally,  and 
at  the  first  glance,  without  any  previous  rea- 
soning, with  the  excellencies  or  the  defects 
of  a  composition.  So  far  as  the  imagination 
and  the  passions  are  concerned,  I  believe  it 
true,  that  the  reason  is  little  consulted  ;  but 
where  disposition,  where  decorum,  where  con- 
gruity  are  concerned,  in  short,  wherever  the 


ON  TASTE.  31 

best  Taste  differs  from  the  worst,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  understanding  operates,  and 
nothing  else;  and  its  operation  is  in  reality 
far  from  being  always  sudden,  or,  when  it  is 
sudden,  it  is  often  far  from  being  right.  Men 
of  the  best  Taste  by  consideration  come  fre- 
quently to  change  these  early  and  precipitate 
judgments,  which  the  mind,  from  its  aversion 
to  neutrality  and  doubt,  loves  to  form  on  the 
spot.  It  is  known  that  the  Taste  (whatever  it 
is)  is  improved  exactly  as  we  improve  our 
judgment,  by  extending  our  knowledge,  by 
a  steady  attention  to  our  object,  and  by  fre- 
quent exercise.  They  who  have  not  taken 
these  methods,  if  their  Taste  decides  quickly, 
it  is  always  uncertainly;  and  their  quickness' 
is  owing  to  their  presumption  and  rashness, 
and  not  any  hidden  irradiation,  that  in  a  mo- 
ment dispels  all  darkness  from  their  minds. 
But  they  who  have  cultivated  that  species  of 
knowledge  which  makes  the  object  of  Taste, 
by  degrees  and  habitually  attain  not  only  a 
soundness,  but  a  readiness  of  judgment,  as 
men  do  by  the  same  methods  on  all  other  oc- 
casions. At  first  they  are  obliged  to  spell; 
but  at  last  they  read  with  ease  and  with  cele- 
rity ;  but  this  celerity  of  its  operation  is  no 


3:2  INTRODUCTION. 

proof  that  the  Taste  is  a  distinct  faculty.  No- 
body, I  believe,  has  attended  the  course  of  a 
discussion  which  turned  upon  matters  within 
the  sphere  of  mere  naked  reason,  but  must 
have  observed  the  extreme  readiness  with 
which  the  whole  process  of  the  argument  is 
carried  on,  the  grounds  discovered,  the  ob- 
jections raised  and  answered,  and  the  conclu- 
sions drawn  from  premises,  with  a  quickness 
altogether  as  great  as  the  Taste  can  be  sup- 
posed to  work  with,  and  yet  where  nothing 
but  plain  reason  either  is  or  can  be  suspected 
to  operate.  To  multiply  principles  for  every 
different  appearance  is  useless,  and  unphilo- 
sophical  too,  in  a  high  degree. 

This  matter  might  be  pursued  much  far- 
ther; but  it  is  not  the  extent  of  the  subject 
which  must  prescribe  our  bounds ;  for  what 
subject  does  not  branch  out  to  infinity?  it  is 
the  nature  of  our  particular  scheme,  and  the 
single  point  of  view  in  which  we  consider  it, 
which  ought  to  put  a  stop  to  our  researches. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  INQUIRY 

INTO    THE 

ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS 

OF    THE 

SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 
PART  I.     SECTION  I. 

NOVELTY. 

1  HE  first  and  the  simplest  emotion  which 
we  discover  in  the  human  mind  is,  Curiosity, 
By  curiosity  I  mean  whatever  desire  we  have 
for,  or  whatever  pleasure  we  take  in,  novelty. 
We  see  children  perpetually  running  from 
place  to  place,  to  hunt  out  something  new : 
they  catch  with  great  eagerness,  and  with 
very  little  choice,  at  whatever  comes  before 
them:  their  attention  is  engaged  by  every 
thing,  because  every  thing  has,  in  that  stage 
of  life,  the  charm  of  novelty  to  recommend 

D 


34  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

it.  But,  as  those  things,  which  engage  us 
merely  by  their  novelty,  cannot  attach  us  for 
any  length  of  time,  curiosity  is  the  most  su- 
perficial of  all  the  affections  ;  it  changes  its 
object  perpetually;  it  has  an  appetite  which 
is  very  sharp,  but  very  easily  satisfied  ;  and 
it  has  always  an  appearance  of  giddiness,  rest- 
lessness, and  anxiety.  Curiosity,  from  its 
nature,  is  a  very  active  principle ;  it  quickly 
runs  over  the  greatest  part  of  its  objects,  and 
soon  exhausts  the  variety  which  is  commonly 
to  be  met  with  in  nature  ;  the  same  things 
make  frequent  returns,  and  they  return  with 
less  and  less  of  any  agreeable  effect. — In 
short,  the  occurrences  of  life,  by  the  time  we 
come  to  know  it  a  little,  would  be  incapable 
of  affecting  the  mind  with  any  other  sensa- 
tions than  those  of  loathing  and  weariness,  if 
many  things  were  not  adapted  to  affect  the 
mind  by  means  of  other  powers  besides  no- 
velty in  them,  and  of  other  passions  besides 
curiosity  in  ourselves.  These  powers  and 
passions  shall  be  considered  in  their  place. 
But  whatever  these  powers  are,  or  upon  what 
principle  soever  they  affect  the  mind,  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  that  they  should  not  be 
exerted  in  those  things  which  a  daily  vulgar 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  35 

use  have  brought  into  a  stale  unaffecting  fa- 
miliarity. Some  degree  of  novelty  must  be 
one  of  the  materials  in  every  instrument 
which  works  upon  the  mind;  and  curiosity 
blends  itself  more  or  less  with  all  our  pas- 
sions. 


SECT.  IL 

PAIN    AND    PLEASURE. 

IT  seems  then  necessary  towards  moving  the 
passions  of  people  advanced  in  life  to  any 
considerable  degree,  that  the  objects  designed 
for  that  purpose,  besides  their  being  in  some 
measure  new,  should  be  capable  of  exciting 
pain  or  pleasure  from  other  causes.  Pain 
and  pleasure  are  simple  ideas,  incapable  of 
definition.  People  are  not  liable  to  be  mis- 
taken in  their  feelings,  but  they  are  very  fre- 
quently wrong  in  the  names  they  give  them, 
and  in  their  reasonings  about  them.  Many 
are  of  opinion,  that  pain  arises  necessarily 
from  the  removal  of  some  pleasure  j  as  they 
think  pleasure  does  from  the  ceasing  or  dimi- 
nution of  some  pain.  For  my  part,  I  am 
rather   inclined  to   imagine,   that   pain   and 


36  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

pleasure,  in  their  most  simple  and  natural 
manner  of  affecting,  are  each  of  a  positive 
nature,  and  by  no  means  necessarily  depend- 
ent on  each  other  for  their  existence.  The 
human  mind  is  often,  and  I  think  it  is  for  the 
most  part,  in  a  state  neither  of  pain  nor  plea- 
sure, which  I  call  a  state  of  indifference. 
When  I  am  carried  from  this  state  into  a 
state  of  actual  pleasure,  it  does  not  appear  ne- 
cessary that  I  should  pass  through  the  me- 
dium of  any  sort  of  pain.  If  in  such  a  state 
of  indifference,  or  ease,  or  tranquillity,  or 
call  it  what  you  please,  you  were  to  be  sud- 
denly entertained  with  a  concert  of  music; 
or  suppose  some  object  of  a  fine  shape,  and 
bright  lively  colours,  to  be  represented  be- 
fore you;  or  imagine  your  smell  is  gratified 
with  the  fragrance  of  a  rose ;  or  if  without 
any  previous  thirst  you  were  to  drink  of  some 
pleasant  kind  of  wine,  or  to  taste  of  some 
sweatmeat  without  being  hungry ; — in  all  the 
several  senses,  of  hearing,  smelling,  and  tast- 
ing, you  undoubtedly  find  a  pleasure :  yet,  if 
I  inquire  into  the  state  of  your  mind  previous 
to  these  gratifications,  you  will  hardly  tell 
me  that  they  found  you  in  any  kind  of  pain ; 
or,  having  satisfied  these  several  senses  with 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  37 

their  several  pleasures,  will  you  say  that  any 
pain  has  succeeded,  though  the  pleasure  is 
absolutely  over  ?  Suppose,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  man  in  the  same  state  of  indifference  to  re- 
ceive a  violent  blow,  or  to  drink  of  some 
bitter  potion,  or  to  have  his  ears  wounded 
with  some  harsh  and  grating  sound ;  here  is 
no  removal  of  pleasure ;  and  yet  here  is  felt, 
in  every  sense  which  is  affected,  a  pain  very 
distinguishable.  It  may  be  said,  perhaps, 
that  the  pain  in  these  cases  had  its  rise  from 
the  removal  of  the  pleasure  which  the  man 
enjoyed  before,  though  that  pleasure  was  of 
so  low  a  degree  as  to  be  perceived  only  by 
the  removal.  But  this  seems  to  me  a  subtilty 
that  is  not  discoverable  in  nature.  For  if, 
previous  to  the  pain,  I  do  not  feel  any  actual 
pleasure,  I  have  no  reason  to  judge  that  any 
such  thing  exists ;  since  pleasure  is  only 
pleasure  as  it  is  felt.  The  same  may  be  said 
of  pain,  and  with  equal  reason.  I  can  never 
persuade  myself  that  pleasure  and  pain  are 
mere  relations,  which  can  only  exist  as  they 
are  contrasted  ;  but  I  think  I  can  discern 
clearly,  that  there  are  positive  pains  and  plea- 
sures, which  do  not  at  all  depend  upon  each 
other.     Nothing  is  more  certain  to  my  own 


38  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

feelings  than  this.  There  is  nothing  which 
I  can  distinguish  in  my  mind  with  more 
clearness  than  the  three  states  of  indifference, 
of  pleasure,  and  of  pain.  Every  one  of  these 
I  can  perceive  without  any  sort  of  idea  of  its 
relation  to  any  thing  else.  Caius  is  afflicted 
with  a  fit  of  the  cholic ;  this  man  is  actually 
in  pain:  stretch  Caius  upon  the  rack,  he  will 
feel  a  much  greater  pain :  but  does  this  pain 
of  the  rack  arise  from  the  removal  of  any 
pleasure  ?  or  is  the  fit  of  the  cholic  a  pleasure 
or  a  pain  just  as  we  are  pleased  to  consider  it? 

SECT.  III. 

THE    DIFFERENCE   BETWEEN   THE  REMOVAL  OF 
PAIN   AND    POSITIVE    PLEASURE. 

W E  shall  carry  this  proposition  yet  a  step 
farther.  We  shall  venture  to  propose,  that 
pain  and  pleasure  are  not  only  not  necessa- 
rily dependent  for  their  existence  on  their 
mutual  diminution  or  removal,  but  that,  in 
reality,  the  diminution  or  ceasing  of  pleasure 
does  not  operate  like  positive  pain ;  and  that 
the  removal  or  diminution  of  pain,  in  its  ef- 
fect, has  very  little  resemblance  to  positive 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  39 

pleasure.  *  The  former  of  these  proposi- 
tions will,  I  believe,  be  much  more  readily 
allowed  than  the  latter;  because  it  is  very 
evident  that  pleasure,  when  it  has  run  its  ca- 
reer, sets  us  down  very  nearly  where  it  found 
us.  Pleasure  of  every  kind  quickly  satis- 
fies; and,  when  it  is  over,  we  relapse  into 
indifference,  or  rather  we  fall  into  a  soft  tran- 
quillity, which  is  tinged  with  the  agreeable 
colour  of  the  former  sensation.  I  own  it  is 
not  at  first  view  so  apparent,  that  the  removal 
of  a  great  pain  does  not  resemble  positive 
pleasure;  but  let  us  recollect  in  what  state 
we  have  found  our  minds  upon  escaping 
some  imminent  danger,  or  on  being  released 
from  the  severity  of  some  cruel  pain.  We 
have  on  such  occasions  found,  if  I  am  not 
much  mistaken,  the  temper  of  our  minds  in 
a  tenor  very  remote  from  that  which  attends 
the  presence  of  positive  pleasure  ;  we  have 
found  them  in  a  state  of  much  sobriety,  im- 
pressed with  a  sense  of  awe,  in  a  sort  of  tran- 

*  Mr.  Locke  [Essay  on  Human  Understanding-,  1.  ii, 
c.  20,  sect.  16.]  thinks  that  the  removal  or  lessening  of 
a  pain  is  considered  and  operates  as  a  pleasure,  and 
the  loss  or  diminishing'  of  pleasure  is  a  pain.  It  is  this 
opinion  which  we  consider  here. 


40  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

quillity  shadowed  with  horror.  The  fashion 
of  the  countenance,  and  the  gesture  of  the 
body,  on  such  occasions,  is  so  correspondent 
to  this  state  of  the  mind,  that  any  person,  a 
stranger  to  the  cause  of  the  appearance, 
would  rather  judge  us  under  some  conster- 
nation, than  in  the  enjoyment  of  any  thing 
like  positive  pleasure. 

*£2?  /'  orstv  otvSe;  *™  trvKivii  XoLGriy  or'  hi  vrdLrp* 

'AvJgoj  is  dQvttx,   SctpGos  $  t^u  il<rogcanvTA(. 

Hom.  Iliad,  xxiv. 

As  when  a  wretch,  who,  conscious  of  his  crime, 
Pursu'd  for  murder  from  his  native  clime, 
Just  gains  some  frontier,  breathless,  pale,  amaz'd ; 
All  gaze,  all  wonder ! 

This  striking  appearance  of  the  man  whom 
Homer  supposes  to  have  just  escaped  an  im- 
minent danger,  the  sort  of  mixt  passion  of 
terror  and  surprise,  with  which  he  affects  the 
spectators,  paints  very  strongly  the  manner  in 
which  we  find  ourselves  affected  upon  occa- 
sions any  way  similar.  For  when  we  have 
suffered  from  any  violent  emotion,  the  mind 
naturally  continues  in  something  like  the 
same  condition,  after  the  cause  which  first 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  41 

produced  it  has  ceased  to  operate.  The  toss- 
ing of  the  sea  remains  after  the  storm  ;  and 
when  this  remain  of  horror  has  entirely  sub- 
sided, all  the  passion,  which  the  accident 
raised,  subsides  along  with  it ;  and  the  mind 
returns  to  its  usual  state  of  indifference.  In 
short,  pleasure  (I  mean  any  thing  either  in 
the  inward  sensation,  or  in  the  outward  ap- 
pearance, like  pleasure  from  a  positive  cause) 
has  never,  I  imagine,  its  origin  from  the  re- 
moval of  pain  or  danger. 

SECT.  IV. 

OF    DELIGHT    AND    PLEASURE,    AS    OPPOSED 
TO    EACH    OTHER. 

XjUT  shall  we  therefore  say,  that  the  re- 
moval of  pain,  or  its  diminution,  is  always 
simply  painful  ?  or  affirm  that  the  cessation  or 
the  lessening  of  pleasure  is  always  attended 
itself  with  the  pleasure  ?  By  no  means.  What  I 
advance  is  no  more  than  this :  first,  that  there 
are  pleasures  and  pains  of  a  positive  and  in- 
dependent nature ;  and,  secondly,  that  the 
feeling  which  results  from  the  ceasing  or  di- 
minution of  pain  does  not  bear  a  sufficient  re- 


42  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

semblance  to  positive  pleasure,  to  have  it 
considered  as  of  the  same  nature,  or  to  entitle 
it  to  be  known  by  the  same  name ;  and, 
thirdly,  that,  upon  the  same  principle,  the  re- 
moval or  qualification  of  pleasure  has  no  re- 
semblance to  positive  pain.  It  is  certain  that 
the  former  feeling  (the  removal  or  moderation 
of  pain)  has  something  in  it  far  from  distress- 
ing or  disagreeable  in  its  nature.  This  feel- 
ing, in  many  cases  so  agreeable,  but  in  all  so 
different  from  positive  pleasure,  has  no  name 
which  I  know ;  but  that  hinders  not  its  being 
a  very  real  one,  and  very  different  from  all 
others.  It  is  most  certain  that  every  species 
of  satisfaction  or  pleasure,  how  different  so- 
ever in  its  manner  of  affecting,  is  of  a  posi- 
tive nature  in  the  mind  of  him  who  feels 
it.  The  affection  is  undoubtedly  positive  ; 
but  the  cause  may  be,  as  in  this  case  it  cer- 
tainly is,  a  sort  of  Privation.  And  it  is  very 
reasonable  that  we  should  distinguish,  by  some 
term,  two  things  so  distinct  in  nature,  as  a 
pleasure  that  is  such  simply,  and  without  any 
relation,  from  that  pleasure  which  cannot  ex- 
ist without  a  relation,  and  that  too  a  relation 
to  pain.  Very  extraordinary  it  would  be,  if 
these  affections,  so  distinguishable  in   their 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  43 

causes,  so  different  in  their  effects,  should  be 
confounded  with  each  other,  because  vulgar 
use  has  ranged  them  under  the  same  general 
title.  Whenever  I  have  occasion  to  speak 
of  this  species  of  relative  pleasure,  I  call  it 
Delight:  and  I  shall  take  the  best  care  I  can 
to  use  that  word  in  no  other  sense.  I  am  sa- 
tisfied the  word  is  not  commonly  used  in  this 
appropriated  signification  ;  but  I  thought  it 
better  to  take  up  a  word  already  known,  and 
to  limit  its  signification,  than  to  introduce  a 
new  one,  which  would  not  perhaps  incorpo- 
rate so  well  with  the  language.  I  should  ne- 
ver have  presumed  the  least  alteration  in  our 
words,  if  the  nature  of  the  language,  framed 
for  the  purposes  of  business  rather  than  those 
of  philosophy,  and  the  nature  of  my  subject, 
that  leads  me  out  of  the  common  track  of  dis- 
course, did  not  in  a  manner  necessitate  me  to 
it.  I  shall  make  use  of  this  liberty  with  all 
possible  caution.  As  I  make  use  of  the  word 
Delight,  to  express  the  sensation  which  ac- 
companies the  removal  of  pain  or  danger ; 
so,  when  I  speak  of  positive  pleasure,  I  shall 
for  the  most  part  call  it  simply,  Pleasure. 


44  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

SECT.  V. 


JOY    AND    GRIEF. 


IT  must  be  observed,  that  the  cessation  of 
pleasure  affects  the  mind  three  ways.  If  it 
simply  ceases,  after  having  continued  a  pro- 
per time,  the  effect  is  indifference;  if  it  be 
abruptly  broken  off,  there  ensues  an  uneasy 
sense  called  disappointment ;  if  the  object  be 
so  totally  lost  that  there  is  no  chance  of  en- 
joying it  again,  a  passion  arises  in  the  mind 
which  is  called  grief.  Now,  there  is  none  of 
these,  not  even  grief,  which  is  the  most  vio- 
lent, that  I  think  has  any  resemblance  to  po- 
sitive pain.  The  person  who  grieves,  suf- 
fers his  passion  to  grow  upon  him;  he  in- 
dulges it,  he  loves  it :  but  this  never  happens 
in  the  case  of  actual  pain,  which  no  man  ever 
willingly  endured  for  any  considerable  time. 
That  grief  should  be  willingly  endured,  though 
far  from  a  simply  pleasing  sensation,  is  not  so 
difficult  to  be  understood.  It  is  the  nature  of 
grief  to  keep  its  object  perpetually  in  its  eye, 
to  present  it  in  its  most  pleasurable  views,  to 
repeat  all  the  circumstances  that  attend  it, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  45 

«ven  to  the  last  minuteness  ;  to  go  back  to 
every  particular  enjoyment,  to  dwell  upon 
each,  and  to  find  a  thousand  new  perfections 
in  all,  that  were  not  sufficiendy  understood 
before:  in  grief,  the  pleasure  is  still  upper- 
most ;  and  the  affliction  we  suffer  has  no  re- 
semblance to  absolute  pain,  which  is  always 
odious,  and  which  we  endeavour  to  shake  off 
as  soon  as  possible.  The  Odyssey  of  Ho- 
mer, which  abounds  with  so  many  natural 
tmd  affecting  images,  has  none  more  striking 
than  those  which  Menelaus  raises  of  the  cala- 
mitous fate  of  his  friends,  and  his  own  man- 
ner of  feeling  it.  He  owns,  indeed,  that  he 
often  gives  himself  some  intermission  from 
such  melancholy  reflections ;  but  he  observes 
too,  that,  melancholy  as  they  are,  they  give 
him  pleasure. 


JloxKeLxtc  \i  fittyafciTt  xat-S-jy/sv:?  trfxerepsrar, 
Tltzvoucti  ai-yj-coj  Si  uopq( xfus&uo -yion. 

Still  in  short  intervals  of  pleasing  voe, 
Reg-ardful  of  the  friendly  clues  I  o^.ve, 
I  to  the  glorious  dead,  for  ever  dear, 
Indulge  the  tribute  of  a  grate/id  tear. 

Hom.  Od.  iv 


46  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

On  the  other  hand,  when  we  recover  our 
health,  when  we  escape  an  imminent  danger, 
is  it  with  joy  that  we  are  affected?  The  sense 
on  these  occasions  is  far  from  that  smooth  and 
voluptuous  satisfaction  which  the  assured  pro- 
spect of  pleasure  bestows.  The  delight  which 
arises  from  the  modifications  of  pain  confesses 
the  stock  from  whence  it  sprung,  in  its  solid, 
strong,  and  severe  nature. 


SECT.  VI. 

OF    THE   PASSIONS    WHICH    BELONG    TO    SELF- 
PRESERVATION. 

jViOST  of  the  ideas  which  are  capable  of 
making  a  powerful  impression  on  the  mind, 
whether  simply  of  Pain  or  Pleasure,  or  of  the 
modifications  of  those,  may  be  reduced  very 
nearly  to  these  two  heads,  self-preservation 
and  society;  to  the  ends  of  one  or  the  other  of 
which  all  our  passions  are  calculated  to  an- 
swer. The  passions  which  concern  self-pre- 
servation turn  mostly  on  pain  or  danger. 
The  ideas  oi pain,  sickness,  and  death,  fill  the 
mind  with  strong  emotions  of  horror :  but  life 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  47 

and  health,  though  they  put  us  in  a  capacity 
of  being  affected  with  pleasure,  they  make  no 
such  impression  by  the  simple  enjoyment. 
The  passions,  therefore,  which  are  convers- 
ant about  the  preservation  of  the  individual, 
turn  chiefly  on  pain  and  danger,  and  they  are 
the  most  powerful  of  all  the  passions. 

SECT.  VII. 

OF     THE     SUBLIME. 

WHATEVER  is  fitted  in  any  sort  to  ex- 
cite the  ideas  of  pain  and  danger;  that  is  to 
say,  whatever  is  in  any  sort  terrible,  or  is  con- 
versant about  terrible  objects,  or  operates  in  a 
manner  analogous  to  terror,  is  a  source  of  the 
sublime;  that  is,  it  is  productive  of  the  strong- 
est emotion  which  the  mind  is  capable  of  feel- 
ing. I  say  the  strongest  emotion,  because 
I  am  satisfied  the  ideas  of  pain  are  much  more 
powerful  than  those  which  enter  on  the  part 
of  pleasure.  Without  all  doubt,  the  torments 
which  we  may  be  made  to  suffer  are  much 
greater  in  their  effect  on  the  body  and  mind, 
than  any  pleasures  which  the  most  learned 
voluptuary  could  suggest,  or  than  the  live- 


48  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

liest  imagination,  and  the  most  sound  and  ex- 
quisitely sensible  body,  could  enjoy.  Nay,  I 
am  in  great  doubt  whether  any  man  could  be 
found  who  would  earn  a  life  of  the  most  per- 
fect satisfaction,  at  the  price  of  ending  it  in 
the  torments  which  justice  inflicted  in  a  few 
hours  on  the  late  unfortunate  regicide  in 
France.  But,  as  pain  is  stronger  in  its  opera- 
tion than  pleasure,  so  death  is  in  general  a 
much  more  affecting  idea  than  pain  ;  because 
there  are  very  few  pains,  however  exquisite, 
which  are  not  preferred  to  death;  nay,  what 
generally  makes  pain  itself,  if  I  may  say  so, 
more  painful,  is,  that  it  is  considered  as  an 
emissary  of  this  king  of  terrors.  When  dan- 
ger or  pain  press  too  nearly,  they  are  inca- 
pable of  giving  any  delight,  and  are  simply 
terrible  ;  but  at  certain  distances,  and  with 
certain  modifications,  they  may  be,  and  they 
are,  delightful,  as  we  every  day  experience. 
The  cause  of  this  I  shall  endeavour  to  inves- 
tigate hereafter. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  49 

SECT.  VIII. 

OF    THE    PASSIONS    WHICH    BELONG    TO 
SOCIETY. 

1  HE  other  head,  under  which  I  class  our 
passions,  is  that  of  society ;  which  may  be  di- 
vided into  two  sorts.  1.  The  society  of  the 
sexes,  which  answers  the  purposes  of  propa- 
gation ;  and,  next,  that  more  general  society, 
which  we  have  with  men  and  with  other  ani- 
mals, and  which  we  may  in  some  sort  be  said 
to  have  even  with  the  inanimate  world.  The 
passions  belonging  to  the  preservation  of  the 
individual  turn  wholly  on  pain  and  danger: 
those  which  belong  to  generation  have  their 
origin  in  gratifications  and  pleasures:  the 
pleasure  most  directly  belonging  to  this  pur- 
pose is  of  a  lively  character,  rapturous  and 
violent,  and  confessedly  the  highest  pleasure 
of  sense ;  yet  the  absence  of  this  so  great  an 
enjoyment  scarce  amounts  to  an  uneasiness, 
and,  except  at  particular  times,  I  do  not  think 
it  affects  at  all.  When  men  describe  in  what 
manner  they  are  affected  by  pain  and  danger, 
they  do  not  dwell  on  the  pleasure  of  health 
E  2 


50  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

and  the  comfort  of  security,  and  then  lament 
the  loss  of  these  satisfactions :  the  whole  turns 
upon  the  actual  pains  and  horrors  which  they 
endure.  But,  if  you  listen  to  the  complaints 
of  a  forsaken  lover,  you  observe  that  he  in- 
sists largely  on  the  pleasures  which  he  en- 
joyed or  hoped  to  enjoy,  and  on  the  perfec- 
tion of  the  object  of  his  desires  :  it  is  the  loss 
which  is  always  uppermost  in  his  mind.  The 
violent  effects  produced  by  love,  which  has 
sometimes  been  even  wrought  up  to  madness, 
is  no  objection  to  the  rule  which  we  seek  to 
establish.  When  men  have  suffered  their 
imaginations  to  be  long  affected  with  any  idea, 
it  so  wholly  engrosses  them  as  to  shut  out  by 
degrees  almost  every  other,  and  to  break  down 
every  partition  of  the  mind  which  would  con- 
fine it.  Any  idea  is  sufficient  for  the  pur- 
pose, as  is  evident  from  the  infinite  variety  of 
causes  which  give  rise  to  madness  j  but  this 
at  most  can  only  prove  that  the  passion  of 
love  is  capable  of  producing  very  extraordi- 
nary effects ;  not  that  its  extraordinary  emo- 
tions have  any  connection  with  positive  pain. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  51 


SECT.  IX. 

THE  FINAL  CAUSE  OF  THE  DIFFERENCE  BE- 
TWEEN THE  PASSIONS  BELONGING  TO  SELF- 
PRESERVATION,  AND  THOSE  WHICH  REGARD 
THE    SOCIETY    OF    THE    SEXES. 

I  HE  final  cause  of  the  difference  in  charac- 
ter between  the  passions  which  regard  self- 
preservation,  and  those  which  are  directed  to 
the  multiplication  of  the  species,  will  illus- 
trate the  foregoing  remarks  yet  further  ;  and 
it  is,  I  imagine,  worthy  of  observation,  even 
upon  its  own  account.  As  the  performance 
of  our  duties  of  every  kind  depends  upon 
life,  and  the  performing  them  with  vigour 
and  efficacy  depends  upon  health,  we  are 
very  strongly  affected  with  whatever  threat- 
ens the  destruction  of  either:  but,  as  we  were 
not  made  to  acquiesce  in  life  and  health,  the 
simple  enjoyment  of  them  is  not  attended 
with  any  real  pleasure,  lest,  satisfied  with 
that,  we  should  give  ourselves  over  to  indo- 
lence and  inaction.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
generation  of  mankind  is  a  great  purpose,  and 
it  is  requisite  that  men  should  be  animated  to 
the  pursuit  of  it  by  some  great  incentive.     It 


52  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

is  therefore  attended  with  a  very  high  plea- 
sure :  but,  as  it  is  by  no  means  designed  to  be 
our  constant  business,  it  is  not  fit  that  the  ab- 
sence of  this  pleasure  should  be  attended  with 
any  considerable  pain.  The  difference  be- 
tween men  and  brutes,  in  this  point,  seems  to 
be  remarkable.  Men  are  at  all  times  pretty 
equally  disposed  to  the  pleasures  of  love,  be- 
cause they  are  to  be  guided  by  reason  in  the 
time  and  manner  of  indulging  them.  Had 
any  great  pain  arisen  from  the  want  of  this 
satisfaction,  reason,  I  am  afraid,  would  find 
great  difficulties  in  the  performance  of  its  of- 
fice. But  brutes,  who  obey  laws,  in  the  exe- 
cution of  which  their  own  reason  has  but 
little  share,  have  their  stated  seasons  :  at  such 
times  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  sensation 
from  the  want  is  very  troublesome,  because 
the  end  must  be  then  answered,  or  be  missed 
in  many,  perhaps  for  ever ;  as  the  inclination 
returns  only  with  its  season. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  53 

SECT.  X. 


OF    BEAUTY. 


1  HE  passion  which  belongs  to  generation, 
merely  as  such,  is  lust  only.  This  is  evident 
in  brutes,  whose  passions  are  more  unmixed, 
and  which  pursue  their  purposes  more  di- 
rectly than  ours.  The  only  distinction  they 
observe,  with  regard  to  their  mates,  is  that  of 
sex.  It  is  true,  that  they  stick  severally  to 
their  own  species,  in  preference  to  all  others. 
But  this  preference,  I  imagine,  does  not  arise 
from  any  sense  of  beauty  w^hich  they  find  in 
their  species,  as  Mr.  Addison  supposes,  but 
from  a  law  of  some  other  kind,  to  which  they 
are  subject ;  and  this  we  may  fairly  conclude 
from  their  apparent  want  of  choice  amongst 
those  objects  to  which  the  barriers  of  their 
species  have  confined  them.  But  man,  who 
is  a  creature  adapted  to  a  greater  variety  and 
intricacy  of  relation,  connects  with  the  gene- 
ral passion  the  idea  of  some  social  qualities, 
which  direct  and  heighten  the  appetite  which 
he  has  in  common  with  all  other  animals  :  and 
as  he  is  not  designed,   like  them,  to  live  at 


54  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

large,  it  is  fit  that  he  should  have  something 
to  create  a  preference,  and  fix  his  choice  ;  and 
this  in  general  should  be  some  sensible  quali- 
ty; as  no  other  can  so  quickly,  so  power- 
fully, or  so  surely,  produce  its  effect.  The 
object,  therefore,  of  this  mixed  passion, 
which  we  call  love,  is  the  beauty  af  the  sex. 
Men  are  carried  to  the  sex  in  general,  as  it  is 
the  sex,  and  by  the  common  law  of  nature ; 
but  they  are  attached  to  particulars  by  per- 
sonal beauty.  I  call  beauty  a  social  quality  : 
for  where  men  and  women,  and  not  only 
they,  but  when  other  animals  give  us  a  sense 
of  joy  and  pleasure  in  beholding  them  (and 
there  are  many  that  do  so),  they  inspire  us 
with  sentiments  of  tenderness  and  affection 
towards  their  persons  ;  we  like  to  have  them 
near  us,  and  we  enter  willingly  into  a  kind  of 
relation  with  them,  unless  we  should  have 
strong  reasons  to  the  contrary.  But  to  what 
end,  in  many  cases,  this  was  designed,  I  am 
unable  to  discover;  for  I  see  no  greater  rea- 
son for  a  connection  between  man  and  seve- 
ral animals  who  are  attired  in  so  engaging  a 
manner,  than  between  him  and  some  others 
who  entirely  want  this  attraction,  or  possess 
it  in  a  far  weaker  degree.     But  it  is  probable 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  55 

that  Providence  did  not  make  even  this  dis- 
tinction, but  with  a  view  to  some  great  end, 
though  we  cannot  perceive  distinctly  what  it 
is,  as  his  wisdom  is  not  our  wisdom,  nor  our 
ways  his  ways. 

SECT.  XL 

SOCIETY    AND    SOLITUDE. 

1  HE  second  branch  of  the  social  passions  is 
that  which  administers  to  society  in  general. 
With  regard  to  this,  I  observe,  that  society, 
merely  as  society,  without  any  particular 
heightenings,  gives  us  no  positive  pleasure  in 
the  enjoyment;  but  absolute  and  entire  soli- 
tude,  that  is,  the  total  and  perpetual  exclusion 
from  all  society,  is  as  great  a  positive  pain  as 
can  almost  be  conceived.  Therefore,  in  the 
balance  between  the  pleasure  of  general  society 
and  the  pain  of  absolute  solitude,  pain  is  the 
predominant  idea.  But  the  pleasure  of  any 
particular  social  enjoyment  outweighs  very 
considerably  the  uneasiness  caused  by  the 
want  of  that  particular  enjoyment ;  so  that 
the  strongest  sensations,  relative  to  the  habi- 
tudes of  particular  society,  are  sensations  of 


56  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

pleasure.  Good  company,  lively  conversa- 
tions, and  the  endearments  of  friendship,  fill 
the  mind  with  great  pleasure  ;  a  temporary 
solitude,  on  the  other  hand,  is  itself  agreeable. 
This  may  perhaps  prove  that  we  are  creatures 
designed  for  contemplation  as  well  as,  action  ; 
since  solitude  as  well  as  society  has  its  plea- 
sures ;  as,  from  the  former  observation,  we 
may  discern  that  an  entire  life  of  solitude 
contradicts  the  purposes  of  our  being,  since 
death  itself  is  scarcely  an  idea  of  more  terror. 


SECT.  XII. 

SYMPATHY,    IMITATION,    AND    AMBITION. 

UNDER  this  denomination  of  society  the 
passions  are  of  a  complicated  kind,  and  branch 
out  into  a  variety  of  forms  agreeable  to  that 
variety  of  ends  they  are  to  serve  in  the  great 
chain  of  society.  The  three  principal  links 
in  this  chain  are  sympathy,  imitation,  and 
ambition. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  57 

SECT.  XIII. 

SYMPATHY. 

IT  is  by  the  first  of  these  passions  that  we 
enter  into  the  concerns  of  others  ;   that  we 
are  moved  as  they  are  moved,  and  are  never 
suffered  to  be  indifferent  spectators  of  almost 
any  thing  which  men  can  do  or  suffer.     For 
sympathy  must  be  considered  as  a  sort  of  sub- 
stitution, by  which  we  are  put  into  the  place 
of  another  man,  and  affected  in  many  respects 
as  he  is  affected:    so  that  this  passion  may 
either  partake  of  the  nature  of  those  which  re- 
gard self-preservation,  and,  turning  upon  pain, 
may  be  a  source  of  the  sublime  ;  or  it  may 
turn  upon  ideas  of  pleasure — and  then,  what- 
ever has  been  said  of  the  social  affections,  whe- 
ther they  regard  society  in  general,  or  only 
some  particular  modes  of  it,  may  be  applica- 
ble here.     It  is  by  this  principle  chiefly  that 
poetry,    painting,    and   other   affecting   arts, 
transfuse   their  passions   from  one  breast  to 
another,  and  are  often  capable  of  grafting  a 
delight  on  wretchedness,  miser)-,  and  death 
itself.     It  is  a  common  observation,  that  ob- 
jects, which  in  the  reality  would  shock,  are 


58  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

in  tragical,  and  such  like  representations,  the 
source  of  a  very  high  species  of  pleasure. 
This,  taken  as  a  fact,  has  been  the  cause  of 
much  reasoning.  The  satisfaction  has  been 
commonly  attributed,  first  to  the  comfort  we 
receive  in  considering  that  so  melancholy  a 
story  is  no  more  than  a  fiction  ;  and  next,  to 
the  contemplation  of  our  own  freedom  from 
the  evils  which  we  see  represented.  I  am 
afraid  it  is  a  practice  much  too  common  in 
inquiries  of  this  nature,  to  attribute  the  cause 
of  feelings  which  merely  arise  from  the  me- 
chanical structure  of  our  bodies,  or  from  the 
natural  frame  and  constitution  of  our  minds, 
to  certain  conclusions  of  the  reasoning  fa- 
culty on  the  objects  presented  to  us ;  for  I 
should  imagine,  that  the  influence  of  reason, 
in  producing  our  passions,  is  nothing  near  so 
extensive  as  it  is  commonly  believed. 

SECT.  XIV. 

THE   EFFECTS  OF   SYMPATHY    IN    THE    DIS- 
TRESSES   OF    OTHERS. 

TO  examine  this  point  concerning  the  effect 
of  Tragedy  in  a  proper  manner,  we  must  pre- 
viously consider  how  we  are  affected  by  the 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  59 

feelings  of  our  fellow-creatures  in  circum- 
stances of  real  distress.  *  J  am  convinced  we 
have  a  degree  of  delight,  and  that  no  small 
one,  in  the  real  misfortunes  and  pains  of 
others  :  for,  let  the  affection  be  what  it  will 
in  appearance,  if  it  does  not  make  us  shun 
some  objects,  if  on  the  contrary  it  induces  us 
to  approach  them,  if  it  makes  us  dwell  upon 
them,  in  this  case  I  conceive  we  must  have  a 
delight  or  pleasure  of  some  species  or  other  in 
contemplating  objects  of  this  kind.  Do  we 
not  read  the  authentic  histories  of  scenes  of 
this  nature  with  as  much  pleasure  as  romances 
or  poems,  where  the  incidents  are  fictitious  ? 
The  prosperity  of  no  empire,  nor  the  gran- 
deur of  no  king,  can  so  agreeably  affect  in 
the  reading,  as  the  ruin  of  the  state  of  Mace- 
don,  and  the  distress  of  its  unhappy  prince. 
Such  a  catastrophe  touches  us  in  history  as 
much  as  the  destruction  of  Troy  does  in 
fable.  Our  delight,  in  cases  of  this  kind,  is 
very  gready  heightened,  if  the  sufferer  be 
some  excellent  person  who  sinks  under  an 
unworthy  fortune.  Scipio  and  Cato  are  both 
virtuous  characters  ;  but  we  are  more  deeply 
affected  by  the  violent  death  of  the  one,  and 
the  ruin  of  the  great   cause  he  adhered  to, 


60  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

than  with  the  deserved  triumphs  and  uninter- 
rupted prosperity  of  the  other ;  for  terror  is  a 
passion  which  always  produces  delight  when 
it  does  not  press  too  close  ;  and  pity  is  a  pas- 
sion accompanied  with  pleasure,  because  it 
arises  from  love  and  social  affection.  When- 
ever we  are  formed  by  nature  to  any  active 
purpose,  the  passion  which  animates  us  to  it 
is  attended  with  delight,  or  a  pleasure  of 
some  kind,  let  the  subject-matter  be  what  it 
will:  and  as  our  Creator  has  designed  we 
should  be  united  by  the  bond  of  sympathy, 
he  has  strengthened  that  bond  by  a  propor- 
tionable delight ;  and  there  most  where  our 
sympathy  is  most  wanted,  in  the  distresses  of 
others.  If  this  passion  was  simply  painful, 
we  would  shun  with  the  greatest  care  all  per- 
sons and  places  that  could  excite  such  a 
passion ;  as  some,  who  are  so  far  gone  in 
indolence  as  not  to  endure  any  strong  impres- 
sion, actually  do.  But  the  case  is  widely  dif- 
ferent with  the  greater  part  of  mankind ;  there 
is  no  spectacle  we  so  eagerly  pursue  as  that 
of  some  uncommon  and  grievous  calamity  j 
so  that  whether  the  misfortune  is  before  our 
eyes,  or  whether  they  are  turned  back  to  it  in 
history,  it  always  touches  with  delight.    This 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  61 

is  not  an  unmixed  delight,  but  blended  with 
no  small  uneasiness.  The  delight  we  have  in 
such  things  hinders  us  from  shunning  scenes 
of  misery ;  and  the  pain  we  feel  prompts  us 
to  relieve  ourselves  in  relieving  those  who 
suffer  ;  and  all  this  antecedent  to  any  reason- 
ing, by  an  instinct  that  works  us  to  its  own 
purposes  without  our  concurrence. 


SECT.  XV. 

OF  THE  EFFECTS  OF  TRAGEDY. 

IT  is  thus  in  real  calamities.  In  imitated  dis- 
tresses, the  only  difference  is  the  pleasure  re- 
sulting from  the  effects  of  imitation  :  for  it  is 
never  so  perfect  but  we  can  perceive  it  is 
imitation,  and  on  that  principle  are  somewhat 
pleased  with  it.  And  indeed  in  some  cases 
we  derive  as  much  or  more  pleasure  from 
that  source  than  from  the  thing  itself.  But 
then,  I  imagine,  we  shall  be  much  mistaken  if 
we  attribute  any  considerable  part  of  our  sa- 
tisfaction in  tragedy  to  the  consideration  that 
tragedy  is  a  deceit,  and  its  representations  no 
realities.  The  nearer  it  approaches  the  real- 
ity, and  the  further  it  removes  us  from  all 

f  2 


62  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

idea  of  fiction,  the  more  perfect  is  its  power. 
But  be  its  power  of  what  kind  it  will,  it  never 
approaches  to  what  it  represents.  Choose  a 
day  on  which  to  represent  the  most  sublime 
and  affecting  tragedy  we  have ;  appoint  the 
most  favourite  actors  ;  spare  no  cost  upon  the 
scenes  and  decorations ;  unite  the  greatest 
efforts  of  poetry,  painting,  and  music ;  and 
when  you  have  collected  your  audience,  just 
at  the  moment  when  their  minds  are  erect 
with  expectation,  let  it  be  reported  that  a  state 
criminal  of  high  rank  is  on  the  point  of  being 
executed  in  the  adjoining  square  ;  in  a  mo- 
ment the  emptiness  of  the  theatre  would  de- 
monstrate the  comparative  weakness  of  the 
imitative  arts,  and  proclaim  the  triumph  of 
the  real  sympathy.  I  believe  that  this  notion 
of  our  having  a  simple  pain  in  the  reality,  yet 
a  delight  in  the  representation,  arises  from 
hence,  that  we  do  not  sufficiently  distinguish 
what  we  would  by  no  means  choose  to  do, 
from  what  we  would  be  eager  enough  to  see 
if  it  was  once  done.  We  delight  in  seeing 
things  which,  so  far  from  doing,  our  heartiest 
wishes  would  be  to  see  redressed.  This  noble 
capital,  the  pride  of  England  and  of  Europe, 
I  believe  no  man  is  so  strangely  wicked  as  to 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  63 

desire  to  see  destroyed  by  a  conflagration  or 
an  earthquake,  though  he  should  be  removed 
himself  to  the  greatest  distance  from  the  dan- 
ger. But  suppose  such  a  fatal  accident  to 
have  happened,  what  numbers  from  all  parts 
would  crowd  to  behold  the  ruins,  and  amongst 
them  many  who  would  have  been  content  ne- 
ver to  have  seen  London  in  its  glory  !  Nor  is 
it,  either  in  real  or  fictitious  distresses,  our 
immunity  from  them  which  produces  our  de- 
light ;  in  my  own  mind  I  can  discover  no- 
thing like  it.  I  apprehend  that  this  mistake 
is  owing  to  a  sort  of  sophism,  by  which  we 
are  frequently  imposed  upon  ;  it  arises  from 
our  not  distinguishing  between  what  is  indeed 
a  necessary  condition  to  our  doing  or  suffer- 
ing any  thing  in  general,  and  what  is  the 
cause  of  some  particular  act.  If  a  man  kills 
me  with  a  sword,  it  is  a  necessary  condition 
to  this  that  we  should  have  been  both  of  us 
alive  before  the  fact ;  and  yet  it  would  be  ab- 
surd to  say,  that  our  being  both  living  crea- 
tures was  the  cause  of  his  crime  and  of  my 
death.  So  it  is  certain,  that  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  my  life  should  be  out  of  any  immi- 
nent hazard  before  I  can  take  a  delight  in  the 
sufferings  of  others,  real  or  imaginary,  or  in- 


64  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

deed  in  any  thing  else,  from  any  cause  what- 
soever. But  then  it  is  a  sophism  to  argue 
from  thence,  that  this  immunity  is  the  cause 
of  my  delight  either  on  these  or  on  any  occa- 
sions. No  one  can  distinguish  such  a  cause 
of  satisfaction  in  his  own  mind,  I  believe ; 
nay,  when  we  do  not  suffer  any  very  acute 
pain,  nor  are  exposed  to  any  imminent  dan- 
ger of  our  lives,  we  can  feel  for  others, 
whilst  we  suffer  ourselves ;  and  often  then 
most  when  we  are  softened  by  affliction,  we 
see  with  pity  even  distresses  which  we  would 
accept  in  the  place  of  our  own. 

SECT.  XVI. 

IMITATIOX. 

1  HE  second  passion  belonging  to  society  is 
imitation,  or,  if  you  will,  a  desire  of  imitat- 
ing, and  consequently  a  pleasure  in  it.  This 
passion  arises  from  much  the  same  cause  with 
sympathy  ;  for,  as  sympathy  makes  us  take  a 
concern  in  whatever  men  feel,  so  this  affec- 
tion prompts  us  to  copy  whatever  they  do ; 
and  consequently  we  have  a  pleasure  in  imi- 
tating, and  in  whatever  belongs  to  imitation, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  65 

merely  as  it  is  such,  without  any  intervention 
of  the  reasoning  faculty,  but  solely  from  our 
natural  constitution,  which  Providence  has 
framed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  find  either 
pleasure  or  delight,  according  to  the  nature  of 
the  object,  in  whatever  regards  the  purposes 
of  our  being.  It  is  by  imitation,  far  more 
than  by  precept,  that  we  learn  every  thing ; 
and  what  we  learn  thus,  we  acquire  not  only 
more  effectually,  but  more  pleasantly.  This 
forms  our  manners,  our  opinions,  our  lives. 
It  is  one  of  the  strongest  links  of  society ;  it 
is  a  species  of  mutual  compliance,  which  all 
men  yield  to  each  other,  without  constraint  to 
themselves,  and  which  is  extremely  flattering 
to  all.  Herein  it  is  that  painting,  and  many 
other  agreeable  arts,  have  laid  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal foundations  of  their  power.  And  since, 
by  its  influence  on  our  manners  and  our  pas- 
sions, it  is  of  such  great  consequence,  I  shall 
here  venture  to  lay  down  a  rule,  which  may 
inform  us,  with  a  good  degree  of  certainty, 
when  we  are  to  attribute  the  power  of  the 
arts  to  imitation,  or  to  our  pleasure  in  the  skill 
of  the  imitator  merely,  and  when  to  sympa- 
thy, or  some  other  cause  in  conjunction  with 
it.     When  the  object  represented  in  poetry 


66  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

or  painting  is  such  as  we  could  have  no  desire 
of  seeing  in  the  reality,  then  I  may  be  sure 
that  its  power  in  poetry  or  painting  is  owing 
to  the  power  of  imitation,  and  to  no  cause 
operating  in  the  thing  itself.  So  it  is  with 
most  of  the  pieces  which  the  painters  call 
still-life.  In  these  a  cottage,  a  dunghill,  the 
meanest  and  most  ordinary  utensils  of  the 
kitchen,  are  capable  of  giving  us  pleasure. 
But  when  the  object  of  the  painting  or  poem 
is  such  as  we  should  run  to  see  if  real,  let  it 
affect  us  with  what  odd  sort  of  sense  it  will, 
we  may  rely  upon  it,  that  the  power  of  the 
poem  or  picture  is  more  owing  to  the  nature 
of  the  thing  itself,  than  to  the  mere  effect  of 
imitation,  or  to  a  consideration  of  the  skill  of 
the  imitator,  however  excellent.  Aristotle 
has  spoken  so  much  and  so  solidly  upon  the 
force  of  imitation  in  his  Poetics,  that  it  makes 
any  further  discourse  upon  this  subject  the 
less  necessary. 

SECT.  XVII. 

AMBITION. 

ALTHOUGH  imitation  is  one  of  the  great  in- 
struments used  by  Providence  in  bringing  our 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  67 

nature  towards  its  perfection,  yet  if  men  gave 
themselves  up  to  imitation  entirely,  and  each 
followed  the  other,  and  so  on  in  an  eternal  cir- 
cle, it  is  easy  to  see  that  there  never  could  be 
any  improvement  amongst  them.  Men  must 
remain  as  brutes  do,  the  same  at  the  end  that 
they  are  at  this  da}' ,  and  that  they  were  in  the 
beginning  of  the  world.  To  prevent  this, 
God  has  planted  in  man  a  sense  of  ambition, 
and  a  satisfaction  arising  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  excelling  his  fellows  in  something 
deemed  valuable  amongst  them.  It  is  this 
passion  that  drives  men  to  all  the  ways  we  see 
in  use  of  signalizing  themselves,  and  that  tends 
to  make  whatever  excites  in  a  man  the  idea  of 
this  distinction  so  very  pleasant.  It  has  been 
so  strong  as  to  make  very  miserable  men  take 
comfort  that  they  were  supreme  in  misery ;  and 
certain  it  is,  that  where  we  cannot  distinguish 
ourselves  by  something  excellent,  we  begin 
to  take  a  complacency  in  some  singular  infir- 
mities, follies,  or  defects  of  one  kind  or  other. 
It  is  on  this  principle  that  flattery  is  so  preva- 
lent ;  for  flattery  is  no  more  than  what  raises 
in  a  man's  mind  an  idea  of  a  preference  which 
he  has  not.  Now,  whatever,  either  on  good 
or  upon  bad  grounds,  tends  to  raise  a  man  in 


68  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

his  own  opinion,  produces  a  sort  of  swelling 
and  triumph  that  is  extremely  grateful  to  the 
human  mind  ;  and  this  swelling  is  never  more 
perceived,  nor  operates  with  more  force,  than 
when  without  danger  we  are  conversant  with 
terrible  objects,  the  mind  always  claiming  to 
itself  some  part  of  the  dignity  and  importance 
of  the  things  which  it  contemplates.  Hence 
proceeds  what  Longinus  has  observed  of  that 
glorying  and  sense  of  inward  greatness,  that 
always  fills  the  reader  of  such  passages  in 
poets  and  orators  as  are  sublime  ;  it  is  what 
every  man  must  have  felt  in  himself  upon 
such  occasions. 

SECT.  XVIII. 

THE  RECAPITULATION. 

TO  draw  the  whole  of  what  has  been  said 
into  a  few  distinct  points  : — The  passions 
which  belong  to  self-preservation  turn  on 
pain  and  danger ;  they  are  simply  painful 
when  their  causes  immediately  affect  us  ;  they 
are  delightful  when  we  have  an  idea  of  pain 
and  danger,  without  being  actually  in  such 
circumstances  ;  this  delight  I  have  not  called 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  69 

pleasure,  because  it  turns  on  pain,  and  because 
it  is  different  enough  from  any  idea  of  positive 
pleasure.  Whatever  excites  this  delight,  I 
call  sublime.  The  passions  belonging  to  self- 
preservation  are  the  strongest  of  all  the  pas- 
sions. 

The  second  head  to  which  the  passions  are 
referred,  with  relation  to  their  final  cause,  is 
society.  There  are  two  sorts  of  societies. 
The  first  is,  the  society  of  sex.  The  passion 
belonging  to  this  is  called  love,  and  it  con- 
tains a  mixture  of  lust;  its  object  is  the 
beauty  of  women.  The  other  is  the  great 
society  with  man  and  all  other  animals.  The 
passion  subservient  to  this  is  called  likewise 
love  ;  but  it  has  no  mixture  of  lust,  and  its 
object  is  beauty  ;  which  is  a  name  I  shall  ap- 
ply to  all  such  qualities  in  things  as  induce  in 
us  a  sense  of  affection  and  tenderness,  or  some 
other  passion  the  most  nearly  resembling  these. 
The  passion  of  love  has  its  rise  in  positive 
pleasure  ;  it  is,  like  all  things  which  grow  out 
of  pleasure,  capable  of  being  mixed  with  a 
mode  of  uneasiness,  that  is,  when  an  idea  of 
its  object  is  excited  in  the  mind,  with  an  idea 
at  the  same  time  of  having  irretrievably  lost 

G 


70  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

it.  This  mixed  sense  of  pleasure  I  have  not 
called  pain,  because  it  turns  upon  actual  plea- 
sure, and  because  it  is,  both  in  its  cause  and 
in  most  of  its  effects,  of  a  nature  altogether 
different. 

Next  to  the  general  passion  we  have  for  so- 
ciety, to  a  choice  in  which  we  are  directed  by 
the  pleasure  we  have  in  the  object,  the  parti- 
cular passion  under  this  head,  called  sympa- 
thy, has  the  greatest  extent.  The  nature  of 
this  passion  is,  to  put  us  in  the  place  of  an- 
other in  whatever  circumstance  he  is  in,  and 
to  affect  us  in  a  like  manner ;  so  that  this  pas- 
sion may,  as  the  occasion  requires,  turn  either 
on  pain  or  pleasure ;  but  with  the  modifications 
mentioned  in  some  cases  in  sect,  xi.  As  to 
imitation  and  preference,  nothing  more  need 
be  said. 

SECT.  XIX. 

THE    CONCLUSION. 

I  BELIEVE  that  an  attempt  to  range  and 
methodize  some  of  our  most  leading  passions 
would  be  a  good  preparative  to  such  an  in- 
quiry as  we  are  going  to  make  in  the  ensuing 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  71 

discourse.  The  passions  I  have  mentioned 
are  almost  the  only  ones  which  it  can  be  ne- 
cessary to  consider  in  our  present  design ; 
though  the  variety  of  the  passions  is  great, 
and  worthy,  in  every  branch  of  that  variety,  of 
an  attentive  investigation.  The  more  accu- 
rately we  search  into  the  human  mind,  the 
stronger  traces  we  every  where  find  of  his 
wisdom  who  made  it.  If  a  discourse  on  the 
use  of  the  parts  of  the  body  maybe  considered 
as  an  hymn  to  the  Creator,  the  use  of  the  pas- 
sions, which  are  the  organs  of  the  mind,  con- 
not  be  barren  of  praise  to  him,  nor  unproduc- 
tive to  ourselves  of  that  noble  and  uncommon 
union  of  science  and  admiration,  which  a  con- 
templation of  the  works  of  infinite  wisdom 
alone  can  afford  to  a  rational  mind ;  whilst, 
referring  to  him  whatever  we  find  of  right,  or 
good,  or  fair  in  ourselves,  discovering  his 
strength  and  wisdom  even  in  our  own  weak- 
ness and  imperfection,  honouring  them  where 
we  discover  them  clearly,  and  adoring  their 
profundity  where  we  are  lost  in  our  search, 
we  may  be  inquisitive  without  impertinence, 
and  elevated  without  pride  ;  we  may  be  ad. 
mitted,  if  I  may  dare  to  say  so,  into  the  coun- 
sels of  the  Almighty  by  a  consideration  of  his 


72  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

works.  The  elevation  of  the  mind  ought  to 
be  the  principal  end  of  all  our  studies,  which 
if  they  do  not  in  some  measure  effect,  they 
are  of  very  little  service  to  us.  But,  besides 
this  great  purpose,  a  consideration  of  the  ra- 
tionale of  our  passions  seems  to  me  very  ne- 
cessary for  all  who  would  affect  them  upon 
solid  and  sure  principles.  It  is  not  enough  to 
know  them  in  general:  to  affect  them  after  a 
delicate  manner,  or  to  judge  properly  of  any 
work  designed  to  affect  them,  we  should  know 
the  exact  boundaries  of  their  several  jurisdic- 
tions; we  should  pursue  them  through  all 
their  variety  of  operations,  and  pierce  into 
the  inmost,  and  what  might  appear  inacces- 
sible parts  of  our  nature, 

Quod  latet  arcana  non  enarrabile  fibra. 

Without  all  this  it  is  possible  for  a  man,  after 
a  confused  manner,  sometimes  to  satisfy  his 
own  mind  of  the  truth  of  his  work;  but  he 
can  never  have  a  certain  determinate  rule  to 
go  by,  nor  can  he  ever  make  his  propositions 
sufficiently  clear  to  others.  Poets,  and  ora- 
tors, and  painters,  and  those  who  cultivate 
other  branches  of  the  liberal  arts,  have,  with- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  73 

out  this  critical  knowledge,  succeeded  well  in 
their  several  provinces,  and  will  succeed ;  as 
among  artificers  there  are  many  machines 
made,  and  even  invented,  without  any  exact 
knowledge  of  the  principles  they  are  govern- 
ed by.  It  is,  I  own,  not  uncommon  to  be 
wrong  in  theory,  and  right  in  practice ;  and 
we  are  happy  that  it  is  so.  Men  often  act 
right  from  their  feelings,  who  afterwards  rea- 
son but  ill  on  them  from  principle  ;  but,  as  it 
is  impossible  to  avoid  an  attempt  at  such  rea- 
soning, and  equally  impossible  to  prevent  its 
having  some  influence  on  our  practice,  surely 
it  is  worth  taking  some  pains  to  have  it  just, 
and  founded  on  the  basis  of  sure  experience. 
We  might  expect  that  the  artists  themselves 
would  have  been  our  surest  guides ;  but  the 
artists  have  been  too  much  occupied  in  the 
practice :  the  philosophers  have  done  little ; 
and  what  they  have  done  was  mostly  with  a 
view  to  their  own  schemes  and  systems  :  and 
as  for  those  called  critics,  they  have  generally 
sought  the  rule  of  the  arts  in  the  wrong  place  : 
they  sought  it  among  poems,  pictures,  en- 
gravings, statues,  and  buildings :  but  art  can 
never  give  the  rules  that  make  an  art.  This 
is,  I  believe,  the  reason  why  artists  in  gene- 


74  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

ral,  and  poets  principally,  have  been  confined 
in  so  narrow  a  circle  ;  they  have  been  rather 
imitators  of  one  another,  than  of  nature  ;  and 
this  with  so  faithful  an  uniformity,  and  to  so 
remote  an  antiquity,  that  it  is  hard  to  say  who 
gave  the  first  model.  Critics  follow  them, 
and  therefore  can  do  little  as  guides.  I  can 
judge  but  poorly  of  any  thing,  whilst  I  mea- 
sure it  by  no  other  standard  than  itself.  The 
true  standard  of  the  arts  is  in  every  man's 
power ;  and  an  easy  observation  of  the  most 
common,  sometimes  of  the  meanest  things  in 
nature,  will  give  the  truest  lights,  where  the 
greatest  sagacity  and  industry  that  slights  such 
observation  must  leave  us  in  the  dark,  or, 
what  is  worse,  amuse  and  mislead  us  by  false 
lights.  In  an  inquiry,  it  is  almost  every  thing 
to  be  once  in  a  right  road.  I  am  satisfied  I 
have  done  but  little  by  these  observations  con- 
sidered in  themselves ;  and  I  never  should 
have  taken  the  pains  to  digest  them,  much  less 
should  I  have  ever  ventured  to  publish  them, 
if  I  was  not  convinced  that  nothing  tends 
more  to  the  corruption  of  science  than  to  suf- 
fer it  to  stagnate.  These  waters  must  be 
troubled  before  they  can  exert  their  virtues. 
A   man  who  works   beyond  the  surface  of 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  75 

things,  though  he  may  be  wrong  himself,  yet 
he  clears  the  way  for  others,  and  may  chance 
to  make  even  his  errors  subservient  to  the 
cause  of  truth.  In  the  following  parts  I  shall 
inquire  what  things  they  are  that  cause  in  us 
the  affections  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  as 
in  this  I  have  considered  the  affections  them- 
selves. I  only  desire  one  favour,  that  no  part 
of  this  discourse  may  be  judged  of  by  itself, 
and  independently  of  the  rest ;  for  I  am  sen- 
sible I  have  not  disposed  my  materials  to  abide 
the  test  of  a  captious  controversy,  but  of  a 
sober  and  even  forgiving  examination ;  that 
they  are  not  armed  at  all  points  for  battle,  but 
dressed  to  visit  those  who  are  willing  to  give 
a  peaceful  entrance  to  truth. 


END    OF    THE    FIRST    PART. 


A 

PHILOSOPHICAL  INQUIRY 


INTO    THE 


ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS 


SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 


PART  II.     SECTION  I. 

OF  THE  PASSION  CAUSED  BY  THE  SUBLIME. 

THE  passion  caused  by  the  great  and  sub- 
lime in  nature,  when  those  causes  operate  most 
powerfully,  is  astonishment ;  and  astonish- 
ment is  that  state  of  the  soul  in  which  all  its 
motions  are  suspended  with  some  degree  of 
horror.*  In  this  case  the  mind  is  so  entirely 
filled  with  its  object,  that  it  cannot  entertain 
any  other,  nor  by  consequence  reason  on  that 
object  which  employs  it.     Hence  arises  the 

*  Part  I.  sect.  3,  4,  7. 


78  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

great  power  of  the  sublime,  that,  far  from  be- 
ing produced  by  them,  it  anticipates  our  rea- 
sonings, and  hurries  us  on  by  an  irresistible 
force.  Astonishment,  as  I  have  said,  is  the 
effect  of  the  sublime  in  its  highest  degree ; 
the  inferior  effects  are  admiration,  reverence, 
and  respect. 

SECT.  II. 

TERROR. 

iSI  O  passion  so  effectually  robs  the  mind  of 
all  its  powers  of  acting  and  reasoning  as 
fear ;  *  for  fear  being  an  apprehension  of  pain 
or  death,  it  operates  in  a  manner  that  resem- 
bles actual  pain.  Whatever  therefore  is  ter- 
rible, with  regard  to  sight,  is  sublime  too, 
whether  this  cause  of  terror  be  endued  with 
greatness  of  dimensions  or  not;  for  it  is  im- 
possible to  look  on  any  thing  as  trifling  or 
contemptible  that  may  be  dangerous.  There 
are  many  animals,  who,  though  far  from  be- 
ing large,  are  yet  capable  of  raising  ideas  of 
the  sublime,  because  they  are  considered  as 
objects  of  terror;  as  serpents  and  poisonous 
animals  of  almost  all  kinds.    And  to  things 

*  Part  IV.  sect.  3,  4,  5,  6. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  79 

of  great  dimensions,  if  we  annex  an  adventi- 
tious idea  of  terror,  they  become  without 
comparison  greater.  A  level  plain  of  a  vast 
extent  on  land  is  certainly  no  mean  idea;  the 
prospect  of  such  a  plain  may  be  as  extensive 
as  a  prospect  of  the  ocean:  but  can  it  ever  fill 
the  mind  with  any  thing  so  great  as  the  ocean 
itself?  This  is  owing  to  several  causes;  but 
it  is  owing  to  none  more  than  this,  that  this 
ocean  is  an  object  of  no  small  terror.  Indeed 
terror  is,  in  all  cases  whatsoever,  either  more 
openly  or  latently  the  ruling  principle  of  the 
sublime.  Several  languages  bear  a  strong  tes- 
timony to  the  affinity  of  these  ideas.  They 
frequently  use  the  same  word  to  signify  in- 
differently the  modes  of  astonishment  or  ad- 
miration, and  those  of  terror.  e*//*W  is,  in 
Greek,  either  fear  or  wonder;  fwoe  is  ter- 
rible or  respectable ;  euSw,  to  reverence  or 
to  fear.  Vereor  in  Latin  is  what  >nha>  is  in 
Greek.  The  Romans  used  the  verb  stupeo,  a 
term  which  strongly  marks  the  state  of  an 
astonished  mind,  to  express  the  effect  either 
of  simple  fear  or  of  astonishment ;  the  word 
attonitus  (thunder-struck)  is  equally  expres- 
sive of  the  alliance  of  these  ideas :  and  do  not 
the  French  etonnement,  and  the  English  asto- 


80  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

mshment  and  amazement,  point  out  as  clearly 
the  kindred  emotions  which  attend  fear  and 
wonder?  They  who  have  a  more  general 
knowledge  of  languages  could  produce,  I 
make  no  doubt,  many  other  and  equally  strik- 
ing examples. 

SECT.  III. 

OBSCURITY. 

1  O  make  any  thing  very  terrible,  obscurity* 
seems  in  general  to  be  necessary.  When  we 
know  the  full  extent  of  any  danger,  when  we 
can  accustom  our  eyes  to  it,  a  great  deal  of 
the  apprehension  vanishes.  Every  one  will 
be  sensible  of  this,  who  considers  how  greatly 
night  adds  to  our  dread  in  all  cases  of  danger, 
and  how  much  the  notions  of  ghosts  and  gob- 
lins, of  which  none  can  form  clear  ideas,  af- 
fect minds  which  give  credit  to  the  popular 
tales  concerning  such  sorts  of  beings.  Those 
despotic  governments,  which  are  founded  on 
the  passions  of  men,  and  principally  upon 
the  passion  of  fear,  keep  their  chief  as  much 
as  may  be  from  the  public  eye.  The  policy 
has  been  the  same  in  many  cases  of  religion. 

*  Part  IV.  sect.  14,  15,  16. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  81 

Almost  all  the  heathen  temples  were  dark. 
Even  in  the  barbarous  temples  of  the  Ameri- 
cans, at  this  day,  they  keep  their  idol  in  a 
dark  part  of  the  hut  which  is  consecrated  to 
his  worship.  For  this  purpose  too  the  Druids 
performed  all  their  ceremonies  in  the  boson 
of  the  darkest  woods,  and  in  the  shade  of  the 
oldest  and  most  spreading  oaks.  No  person 
seems  better  to  have  understood  the  secret  of 
heightening,  or  of  setting  terrible  things,  if  I 
may  use  the  expression,  in  their  strongest 
light,  by  the  force  of  a  judicious  obscurity, 
than  Milton.  His  description  of  Death,  in 
the  second  book,  is  admirably  studied :  it  is 
astonishing  with  what  a  gloomy  pomp,  with 
what  a  significant  and  expressive  uncertainty 
of  strokes  and  colouring,  he  has  finished  the 
portrait  of  the  king  of  terrors  : 

Tiie  other  shape, 
If  shape  it  might  be  call'd  that  shape  had  none 
Distinguishable,  in  member,  joint,  or  limb  ; 
Or  substance  might  be  call'd  that  shadow  seem'd, 
For  each  seem'd  either  ;  black  he  stood  as  night ; 
Fierce  as  ten  furies  ;  terrible  as  hell ; 
And  shook  a  deadly  dart.     What  seem'd  his  head 
The  likeness  of  a  kingly  crown  had  on. 

H 


82  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

In  this  description  all  is  dark,  uncertain,  con- 
fused, terrible,  and  sublime  to  the  last  de- 
gree. 

SECT.  IV. 

OF  THE  DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  CLEARNESS 
AND  OBSCURITY  WITH  REGARD  TO  THE 
PASSIONS. 

IT  is  one  thing  to  make  an  idea  clear,  and 
another  to  make  it  affecting  to  the  imagination. 
If  I  make  a  drawing  of  a  palace,  or  a  temple, 
or  a  landscape,  I  present  a  very  clear  idea  of 
those  objects ;  but  then  (allowing  for  the  ef- 
fect of  imitation,  which  is  something)  my 
picture  can  at  most  affect  only  as  the  palace, 
temple,  or  landscape,  would  have  affected  in 
the  reality.  On  the  other  hand,  the  most 
lively  and  spirited  verbal  description  I  can 
give,  raises  a  very  obscure  and  imperfect  idea 
of  such  objects ;  but  then  it  is  in  my  power  to 
raise  a  stronger  emotion  by  the  description, 
than  I  could  do  by  the  best  painting.  This, 
experience  constantly  evinces.  The  proper 
manner  of  conveying  the   affections  of  the 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  83 

mind  from  one  to  another,  is  by  words :  there 
is  a  great  insufficiency  in  all  other  methods  of 
communication ;  and  so  far  is  a  clearness  of 
imagery  from  being  absolutely  necessary  to 
an  influence  upon  the  passions,  that  they  may 
be  considerably  operated  upon,  without  pre- 
senting any  image  at  all,  by  certain  sounds 
adapted  to  that  purpose;  of  which  we  have  a 
sufficient  proof  in  the  acknowledged  and 
powerful  effects  of  instrumental  music.  In 
reality,  a  great  clearness  helps  but  little  to- 
wards affecting  the  passions,  as  it  is  in  some 
sort  an  enemy  to  all  enthusiasms  whatsoever. 

SECT.  [IV.] 

THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED. 

1  HERE  are  two  verses  in  Horace's  Art  of 
Poetry  that  seem  to  contradict  this  opinion ; 
for  which  reason  I  shall  take  a  little  more 
pains  in  clearing  it  up.     The  verses  are  : 

Segnius  irritant  animos  demissa  per  aures, 
Quam  quae  sunt  oculis  subjecta  fidelibus. 

On  this  the  Abbe  du  Bos  founds  a  criticism, 
wherein  he  gives  painting  the  preference  to 


84  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

poetry,  in  the  article  of  moving  the  passions  ; 
principally  on  account  of  the  greater  clearness 
of  the  ideas  it  represents.  I  believe  this  ex- 
cellent judge  was  led  into  this  mistake  (if  it 
be  a  mistake)  by  his  system,  to  which  he 
found  it  more  conformable  than  I  imagine  it 
will  be  found  by  experience.  I  know  several 
who  admire  and  love  painting,  and  yet  who 
regard  the  objects  of  their  admiration  in  that 
art  with  coolness  enough  in  comparison  of  that 
warmth  with  which  they  are  animated  by  af- 
fecting pieces  of  poetry  or  rhetoric.  Among 
the  common  sort  of  people,  I  never  could  per- 
ceive that  painting  had  much  influence  on 
their  passions.  It  is  true,  that  the  best  sorts 
of  painting,  as  well  as  the  best  sorts  of  poetry, 
are  not  much  understood  in  that  sphere.  But 
it  is  most  certain,  that  their  passions  are  very 
strongly  roused  by  a  fanatic  preacher,  or  by 
the  ballads  of  Chevy-chase,  or  the  Children  in 
the  Wood,  and  by  other  little  popular  poems 
and  tales  that  are  current  in  that  rank  of  life.  I 
do  not  know  of  any  paintings,  bad  or  good,  that 
produce  the  same  effect.  So  that  poetry,  with 
all  its  obsurity,  has  a  more  general,  as  well  as 
a  more  powerful  dominion  over  the  passions 
than  the  other  art.  And  I  think  there  are  rea- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  85 

sons  in  nature,  why  the  obscure  idea,  when 
properly  conveyed,  should  be  more  affecting 
than  the  clear.  It  is  our  ignorance  of  things 
that  causes  all  our  admiration,  and  chiefly  ex- 
cites our  passions.  Knowledge  and  acquaint- 
ance make  the  most  striking  causes  affect  but 
little.  It  is  thus  with  the  vulgar ;  and  all  men 
are  as  the  vulgar  in  what  they  do  not  under- 
stand. The  ideas  of  eternity,  and  infinity, 
are  among  the  most  affecting  we  have ;  and 
perhaps  there  is  nothing  of  which  we  really  un- 
derstand so  little,  as  of  infinity,  and  eternity. 
We  do  not  any  where  meet  a  more  sublime 
description  than  this  justly  celebrated  one  of 
Milton,  wherein  he  gives  the  portrait  of  Satan 
with  a  dignity  so  suitable  to  the  subject : 

He  above  the  rest 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent 
Stood  like  a  tower ;  his  form  had  yet  not  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appear'd 
Less  than  archangel  ruin'd,  and  th'  excess 
Of  glory  obscur'd  :  as  when  the  son  new  ris'n 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air 
Shorn  of  his  beams  ;  or  from  behind  the  moon 
In  dim  eclipse  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations  ;  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs. 

Here   is  a  very  noble  picture  ;  and  in  what 

h2 


86  ON  THE   SUBLIME 

does  this  poetical  picture  consist?  in  images 
of  a  tower,  an  archangel,  the  sun  rising 
through  mists,  or  in  an  eclipse,  the  ruin  of  mo- 
narchs,  and  the  revolutions  of  kingdoms.  The 
mind  is  hurried  out  of  itself,  by  a  crowd  of 
great  and  confused  images  ;  which  affect  be- 
cause they  are  crowded  and  confused.  For  se- 
parate them,  and  you  lose  much  of  the  great- 
ness ;  and  join  them,  and  you  infallibly  lose 
the  clearness.  The  images  raised  by  poetry 
are  always  of  this  obsure  kind  ;  though  in  ge- 
neral the  effects  of  poetry  are  by  no  means  to 
be  attributed  to  the  images  it  raises ;  which 
point  we  shall  examine  more  at  large  hereaf- 
ter.* But  painting,  when  we  have  allowed 
for  the  pleasure  of  imitation,  can  only  affect 
simply  by  the  images  it  presents ;  and  even  in 
painting,  a  judicious  obscurity  in  some  things 
contributes  to  the  effect  of  the  picture ;  be- 
cause the  images  in  painting  are  exactly  simi- 
lar to  those  in  nature ;  and  in  nature  dark,  con- 
fused, uncertain  images  have  a  greater  power 
on  the  fancy  to  form  the  grander  passions,  than 
those  have  which  are  more  clear  and  determi- 
nate.    But  where  and  when  this  observation 

*  PartV. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  87 

may  be  applied  to  practice,  and  how  far  it 
shall  be  extended,  will  be  better  deduced 
from  the  nature  of  the  subject,  and  from  the 
occasion,  than  from  any  rules  that  can  be 
given. 

I  am  sensible  that  this  idea  has  met  with 
opposition,  and  is  likely  still  to  be  rejected  by 
several.  But  let  it  be  considered,  that  hardly 
any  thing  can  strike  the  mind  with  its  great- 
ness which  does  not  make  some  sort  of  ap- 
proach towards  infinity  ;  which  nothing  can 
do  whilst  we  are  able  to  perceive  its  bounds  : 
but  to  see  an  object  distinctly,  and  to  perceive 
its  bounds,  is  one  and  the  same  thing.  A  clear 
idea  is  therefore  another  name  for  a  little  idea. 
There  is  a  passage  in  the  book  of  Job  amaz- 
ingly sublime  ;  and  this  sublimity  is  princi- 
pally due  to  the  terrible  uncertainty  of  the 
thing  described:  In  thoughts  from  the  visions 
of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep  falleth  upon  men, 
fear  came  upon  me  and  trembling,  which  made 
all  my  bones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed 
before  my  face.  The  hair  of  my  fesh  stood  up. 
It  stood  still,  but  I  could  not  discern  the  form 
thereof ;  an  image  was  before  mine  eyes  ;  there 
xvas  silence;  and  I  heard  a  voice,  Shall  mor- 


88  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

tal  man  be  more  just  than  God?  We  are  first 
prepared  with  the  utmost  solemnity  for  the 
vision ;  we  are  first  terrified  before  we  are  let 
even  into  the  obscure  cause  of  our  emotion : 
but  when  this  grand  cause  of  terror  makes  its 
appearance,  what  is  it  ?  is  it  not  wrapt  up  in 
the  shades  of  its  own  incomprehensible  dark- 
ness, more  awful,  more  striking,  more  ter- 
rible than  the  liveliest  description,  than  the 
clearest  painting,  could  possibly  represent  it  ? 
When  painters  have  attempted  to  give  us 
clear  representations  of  these  very  fanciful 
and  terrible  ideas,  they  have,  I  think,  almost 
always  failed ;  insomuch  that  I  have  been  at 
a  loss,  in  all  the  pictures  I  have  seen  of  hell, 
whether  the  painter  did  not  intend  something 
ludicrous.  Several  painters  have  handled  a 
subject  of  this  kind  with  a  view  of  assembling 
as  many  horrid  phantoms  as  their  imagina- 
tions could  suggest ;  but  all  the  designs  I 
have  chanced  to  meet  of  the  temptations  of 
St.  Anthony,  were  rather  a  sort  of  odd  wild 
grotesques,  than  any  thing  capable  of  pro- 
ducing a  serious  passion.  In  all  these  sub- 
jects poetry  is  very  happy.  Its  apparitions, 
its  chimeras,  its  harpies,  its  allegorical  figures, 
are  grand  and  affecting  j   and  though  Virgil's 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  89 

Fame  and  Homer's  Discord  are  obscure,  they 
are  magnificent  figures.  These  figures  in 
painting  would  be  clear  enough,  but  I  fear 
they  might  become  ridiculous. 

SECT.  V. 

POWER. 

13 E SIDES  those  things  which  directly  sug- 
gest the  idea  of  danger,  and  those  which  pro- 
duce a  similar  effect  from  a  mechanical  cause, 
I  know  of  nothing  sublime  which  is  not  some 
modification  of  power.  And  this  branch  rises, 
as  naturally  as  the  other  two  branches,  from 
terror,  the  common  stock  of  every  thing  that 
is  sublime.  The  idea  of  power,  at  first  view, 
seems  of  the  class  of  these  indifferent  ones, 
which  may  equally  belong  to  pain  or  to  plea- 
sure. But,  in  reality,  the  affection  arising 
from  the  idea  of  vast  power  is  extremely  re- 
mote from  that  neutral  character.  For,  first, 
we  must  remember,*  that  the  idea  of  pain,  in 
its  highest  degree,  is  much  stronger  than  the 
highest  degree  of  pleasure  ;  and  that  it  pre- 
serves the  same  superiority  through  all  the 

Part  1.  sect.  7. 


90  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

subordinate  gradations.  From  hence  it  is, 
that  where  the  chances  for  equal  degrees  of 
suffering  or  enjoyment  are  in  any  sort  equal^ 
the  idea  of  the  suffering  must  always  be  pre- 
valent. And  indeed  the  ideas  of  pain,  and, 
above  all,  of  death,  are  so  very  affecting,  that 
whilst  we  remain  in  the  presence  of  whatever 
is  supposed  to  have  the  power  of  inflicting 
either,  it  is  impossible  to  be  perfectly  free 
from  terror.  Again,  we  know  by  experience, 
that,  for  the  enjoyment  of  pleasure,  no  great 
efforts  of  power  are  at  all  necessary ;  nay,  we 
know  that  such  efforts  would  go  a  great  way 
towards  destroying  our  satisfaction ;  for  plea- 
sure must  be  stolen,  and  not  forced  upon  us : 
pleasure  follows  the  will ;  and  therefore  we 
are  generally  affected  with  it  by  many  things 
of  a  force  greatly  inferior  to  our  own.  But 
pain  is  always  inflicted  by  a  power  in  some 
way  superior,  because  we  never  submit  to 
pain  willingly.  So  that  strength,  violence, 
pain  and  terror  are  ideas  that  rush  in  upon 
the  mind  together.  Look  at  a  man,  or  any 
other  animal  of  prodigious  strength,  and  what 
is  your  idea  before  reflection  ?  Is  it  that  this 
strength  will  be  subservient  to  you,  to  your 
ease,  to  your  pleasure,  to  your  interest  in  any 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  91 

sense  ?  No  :  the  emotion  you  feel  is,  lest  this 
enormous  strength  should  be  employed  to  the 
purposes  of  *  rapine  and  destruction.  That 
power  derives  all  its  sublimity  from  the  terror 
with  which  it  is  generally  accompanied,  will 
appear  evidently  from  its  effect  in  the  very 
few  cases  in  which  it  may  be  possible  to  strip 
a  considerable  degree  of  strength  of  its  ability 
to  hurt.  When  you  do  this,  you  spoil  it  of 
every  thing  sublime,  and  it  immediately  be- 
comes contemptible.  An  ox  is  a  creature  of 
vast  strength  :  but  he  is  an  innocent  creature, 
extremely  serviceable,  and  not  at  all  danger- 
ous ;  for  which  reason  the  idea  of  an  ox  is  by 
no  means  grand.  A  bull  is  strong  too  ;  but 
his  strength  is  of  another  kind ;  often  very 
destructive,  seldom  (at  least  amongst  us)  of 
any  use  in  our  business  :  the  idea  of  a  bull  is 
therefore  great,  and  it  has  frequently  a  place 
in  sublime  descriptions  and  elevating  compa- 
risons. Let  us  look  at  another  strong  animal 
in  the  two  distinct  lights  in  which  we  may 
consider  him.  The  horse,  in  the  light  of  an 
useful  beast,  fit  for  the  plough,  the  road,  the 
draught,  in  every  social  useful  light  the  horse 
has  nothing  of  the  sublime  :  but  is  it  thus  that 
*  Vide  Part  III.  sect.  21. 


92  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

we  are  affected  with  him,  zvhose  neck  is  clothed 
with  thunder ,  the  glory  of  whose  nostrils  is  ter- 
rible, who  swalloweth  the  ground  with  fierce- 
ness  and  rage,  neither  believeth  that  it  is  the 
sound  of  the  trumpet  f  In  this  description  the 
useful  character  of  the  horse  entirely  disap- 
pears, and  the  terrible  and  sublime  blaze  out 
together.  We  have  continually  about  us  ani- 
mals, of  a  strength  that  is  considerable,  but  not 
pernicious.  Amongst  these  we  never  look 
for  the  sublime  j  it  comes  upon  us  in  the 
gloomy  forest,  and  in  the  howling  wilderness, 
in  the  form  of  the  lion,  the  tiger,  the  panther, 
or  rhinoceros.  Whenever  strength  is  only 
useful,  and  employed  for  our  benefit  or  our 
pleasure,  then  it  is  never  sublime  ;  for  no- 
thing can  act  agreeably  to  us  that  does  not  act 
in  conformity  to  our  will ;  but,  to  act  agree- 
ably to  our  will,  it  must  be  subject  to  us,  and 
therefore  can  never  be  the  cause  of  a  grand 
and  commanding  conception.  The  descrip- 
tion of  the  wild  ass,  in  Job,  is  worked  up  into 
no  small  sublimity,  merely  by  insisting  on 
his  freedom,  and  his  setting  mankind  at  de- 
fiance ;  otherwise  the  description  of  such  an 
animal  could  have  had  nothing  noble  in  it. 
Who  hath  loosed  (says  he)  the  bands  of  the 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  93 

wild  ass,  xvhose  house  I  have  made  the  "wil- 
derness, and  the  barren  land  his  dwellings  P 
He  scorneth  the  multitude  of  the  city,  neither 
regardeth  he  the  voice  of  the  driver.  The 
range  of  the  mountains  is  his  pasture.  The 
magnificent  description  of  the  unicorn,  and  of 
leviathan,  in  the  same  book,  is  full  of  the 
same  heightening  circumstances  :  Will  the 
unicorn  bexvilling  to  serve  thee?  canst  thou  bind 
the  unicorn  ruith  his  band  in  the  furrow  f  wilt 
thou  trust  him  because  his  strength  is  great  P 
— Canst  thou  draw  out  leviathan  with  an  hook  P 
xvill  he  make  a  covenant  xvith  thee  P  wilt  thou 
take  him  for  a  servant  for  ever  P  shall  not  one 
be  cast  down  even  at  the  sight  of  him  P  In 
short,  wheresoever  we  find  strength,  and  in 
what  light  soever  we  look  upon  power,  we 
shall  all  along  observe  the  sublime  the  conco- 
mitant of  terror,  and  contempt  the  attendant 
on  a  strength  that  is  subservient  and  in- 
noxious. The  race  of  dogs,  in  many  of  their 
kinds,  have  generally  a  competent  degree  of 
strength  and  swiftness  ;  and  they  exert  these 
and  other  valuable  qualities  which  they  pos- 
sess, greatly  to  our  convenience  and  pleasure. 
Dogs  are  indeed  the  most  social,  affectionate, 
and  amiable  animals  of  the  whole  brute  crea- 

i 


94  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

tion ;  but  love  approaches  much  nearer  to 
contempt  than  is  commonly  imagined ;  and 
accordingly,  though  we  caress  dogs,  we  bor- 
row from  them  an  appellation  of  the  most  de- 
spicable kind,  when  we  employ  terms  of  re- 
proach ;  and  this  appellation  is  the  common 
mark  of  the  last  vileness  and  contempt  in 
every  language.  Wolves  have  not  more 
strength  than  several  species  of  dogs  ;  but,  on 
account  of  their  unmanageable  fierceness,  the 
idea  of  a  wolf  is  not  despicable  ;  it  is  not  ex- 
cluded from  grand  descriptions  and  simili. 
tudes.  Thus  we  are  affected  by  strength, 
which  is  natural  power.  The  power  which 
arises  from  institution  in  kings  and  command- 
ers has  the  same  connection  with  terror.  So- 
vereigns are  frequently  addressed  with  the 
title  of  dread  majesty.  And  it  may  be  ob- 
served, that  young  persons  little  acquainted 
with  the  world,  and  who  have  not  been  used 
to  approach  men  in  power,  are  commonly 
struck  with  an  awe  which  takes  away  the  free 
use  of  their  faculties.  When  I  prepared  my 
seat  in  the  street  (says  Job),  the  young  men  saw 
me  and  hid  themselves.  Indeed,  so  natural  is 
this  timidity  with  regard  to  power,  and  so 
strongly  does  it  inhere  in  our  constitution,  that 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  95 

very  few  are  able  to  conquer  it,  but  by  mix- 
ing much  in  the  business  of  the  great  world, 
or  by  using  so  small  violence  to  their  natural 
dispositions.  I  know  some  people  are  of  opi- 
nion, that  no  awe,  no  degree  of  terror,  accom- 
panies the  idea  of  power  :  and  have  hazarded 
to  affirm,  that  we  can  contemplate  the  idea  of 
God  himself  without  any  such  emotion.  I 
purposely  avoided,  when  I  first  considered 
this  subject,  to  introduce  the  idea  of  that  great 
and  tremendous  Being,  as  an  example  in  an 
argument  so  light  as  this  ;  though  it  frequently 
occurred  to  me,  not  as  an  objection  to,  but  as 
a  strong  confirmation  of  my  notions  in  this 
matter.  I  hope,  in  what  I  am  going  to  say? 
I  shall  avoid  presumption,  where  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  any  mortal  to  speak  with  strict 
propriety.  I  say,  then,  that  whilst  we  consi- 
der the  Godhead  merely  as  he  is  an  object  of 
the  understanding,  which  forms  a  complex 
idea  of  power,  wisdom,  justice,  goodness,  all 
stretched  to  a  degree  far  exceeding  the  bounds 
of  our  comprehension  ;  whilst  we  consider 
the  Divinity  in  this  refined  and  abstracted 
light,  the  imagination  and  passions  are  little 
or  nothing  affected.  But  because  we  are 
bound,   by  the  condition  of  our  nature,  to 


96  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

ascend  to  these  pure   and  intellectual   ideas 
through  the  medium  of  sensible  images,  and 
to  judge  of  these  divine  qualities  by  their  evi- 
dent acts  and  exertions,  it  becomes  extremely 
hard  to  disentangle  our  idea  of  the  cause  from 
the  effect  by  which  we  are  led  to  know  it. 
Thus,  when  we  contemplate  the  Deity,  his 
attributes  and  their  operations  coming  united 
on  the  mind,   form  a  sort  of  sensible  image, 
and,  as  such,  are  capable  of  affecting  the  ima- 
gination.    Now,  though,  in  a  just  idea  of  the 
Deity,  perhaps  none  of  his  attributes  are  pre- 
dominant, yet,  to  our  imagination,  his  power 
is  by  far  the  most  striking.     Some  reflection, 
some  comparing,  is  necessary  to  satisfy  us  of 
his  wisdom,  his  justice,  and  his  goodness.  To 
be  struck  with  his  power,  it  is  only  necessary 
that  we  should  open  our  eyes.     But  whilst 
we  contemplate  so  vast  an  object,  under  the 
arm,  as  it  were,  of  almighty  power,  and  in- 
vested upon  every  side  with   omnipresence, 
we  shrink  into  the  minuteness   of  our  own 
nature,  and  are,  in  a  manner,  annihilated  be- 
fore him.    And  though  a  consideration  of  his 
other  attributes  may  relieve  in  some  measure 
our  apprehensions,  yet  no  conviction  of  the 
justice  with  which  it  is  exercised,  nor   the 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  97 

mercy  with  which  it  is  tempered,  can  wholly 
remove  the  terror  that  naturally  arises  from  a 
force  which  nothing  can  withstand.  If  we 
rejoice,  we  rejoice  with  trembling  ;  and  even 
whilst  we  are  receiving  benefits,  we  cannot 
but  shudder  at  a  power  which  can  confer  be- 
nefits of  such  mighty  importance.  When 
the  prophet  David  contemplated  the  wonders 
of  wisdom  and  power  which  are  displayed  in 
the  economy  of  man,  he  seems  to  be  struck 
with  a  sort  of  divine  horror,  and  cries  out, 
Fearfully  and  wonderfully  am  I  made!  An 
heathen  poet  has  a  sentiment  of  a  similar  na- 
ture ;  Horace  looks  upon  it  as  the  last  effort 
of  philosophical  fortitude,  to  behold,  without 
terror  and  amazement,  this  immense  and  glo- 
rious fabric  of  the  universe  : 

Hunc  solem,  et  Stellas,  et  decedentia  certis 
Tempora  momentis,  sunt  qui  formidine  nulla 
Imbuti  spectant. 

Lucretius  is  a  poet  not  to  be  suspected  of  giv- 
ing way  to  superstitious  terrors ;  yet,  when  he 
supposes  the  whole  mechanism  of  nature  laid 
open  by  the  master  of  his  philosophy,  his 
transport  on  this  magnificent  view,  which  he 
has  represented  in  the  colours  of  such  bold 

12 


98  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

and  lively  poetry,  is  overcast  with  a  shade  of 
secret  dread  and  horror : 

His  tibi  me  rebus  quxdam  divina  voluptas 
Percipit,  atque  horror,  quod  sic  Natura  tua  vi 
Tarn  manifesta  patet  ex  omni  parte  retecta. 

But  the  Scripture  alone  can  supply  ideas  an- 
swerable to  the  majesty  of  this  subject.  In 
the  Scripture,  wherever  God  is  represented 
as  appearing  or  speaking,  every  thing  terrible 
in  nature  is  called  up  to  heighten  the  awe 
and  solemnity  of  the  divine  presence.  The 
psalms,  and  the  prophetical  books,  are  crowd- 
ed with  instances  of  this  kind.  The  earth 
shook  (says  the  psalmist,)  the  heavens  also  drop- 
ped at  the  presence  of  the  Lord.  And,  what 
is  remarkable,  the  painting  preserves  the  same 
character,  not  only  when  he  is  supposed  de- 
scending to  take  vengeance  upon  the  wicked, 
but  even  when  he  exerts  the  like  plenitude  of 
power  in  acts  of  beneficence  to  mankind. 
Tremble,  thou  earth  I  at  the  presence  of  the 
Lord;  at  the  presence  of  the  God  of  Jacob; 
which  turned  the  rock  into  standing  water,  the 
flint  into  a  fountain  of  waters  I  It  were  end- 
less to  enumerate  all  the  passages,  both  in  the 
sacred  and  profane  writers,  which  establish 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  99 

the  general  sentiment  of  mankind  concerning 
the  inseparable  union  of  a  sacred  and  reve- 
rential awe,  with  our  ideas  of  the  Divinity. 
Hence  the  common  maxim,  Primos  in  orbe 
deos  fecit  timor.  This  maxim  may  be,  as  I 
believe  it  is,  false  with  regard  to  the  origin  of 
religion.  The  maker  of  the  maxim  saw  how 
inseparable  these  ideas  were,  without  consi- 
dering that  the  notion  of  some  great  power 
must  be  always  precedent  to  our  dread  of  it. 
But  this  dread  must  necessarily  follow  the 
idea  of  such  a  power  when  it  is  once  excited 
in  the  mind.  It  is  on  this  principle  that  true 
religion  has,  and  must  have,  so  large  a  mix- 
ture of  salutary  fear  ;  and  that  false  religions 
have  generally  nothing  else  but  fear  to  sup- 
port them.  Before  the  Christian  religion  had, 
as  it  were,  humanized  the  idea  of  the  Divini- 
ty, and  brought  it  somewhat  nearer  to  us, 
there  was  very  little  said  of  the  love  of  God. 
The  followers  of  Plato  have  something  of  it, 
and  only  something ;  the  other  writers  of 
Pagan  antiquity,  whether  poets  or  philoso- 
phers, nothing  at  all.  And  they  who  consider 
with  what  infinite  attention,  by  what  a  disre- 
gard of  every  perishable  object,  through  what 
long  habits  of  piety  and  contemplation  it  is, 


100  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

any  man  is  able  to  attain  an  entire  love  and 
devotion  to  the  Deity,  will  easily  perceive 
that  it  is  not  the  first,  the  most  natural,  and 
the  most  striking  effect,  which  proceeds  from 
that  idea.  Thus  we  have  traced  power 
through  its  several  gradations  unto  the  high- 
est of  all,  where  our  imagination  is  finally 
lost ;  and  we  find  terror,  quite  throughout 
the  progress,  its  inseparable  companion,  and 
growing  along  with  it,  as  far  as  we  can  possi- 
bly trace  them.  Now,  as  power  is  undoubt- 
edly a  capital  source  of  the  sublime,  this  will 
point  out  evidently  from  whence  its  energy 
is  derived,  and  to  what  class  of  ideas  we 
ought  to  unite  it. 

SECT.  VI. 

PRIVATION. 

ALL  general  privations  are  great,  because 
they  are  all  terrible  ;  Vacuity ,  Darkness,  Soli- 
tude, and  Silence.  With  what  a  fire  of  ima- 
gination, yet  with  what  severity  of  judgment, 
has  Virgil  amassed  all  these  circumstances, 
where  he  knows  that  all  the  images  of  a  tre- 
mendous dignity  ought  to  be  united,  at  the 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  101 

mouth  of  hell!  where,  before  he  unlocks  the 
secrets  of  the  great  deep,  he  seems  to  be  seiz- 
ed with  a  religious  horror,  and  to  retire  asto- 
nished at  the  boldness  of  his  own  design : 

Dl  qulbus  imperiumest  animarum,  umbrseque  silentes/ 
Et  Chaos,  et  Phlegethon  !  loca  node  silentia  late  ! 
Sit  mibi  fas  audita  loqui !   sit  numine  vestro 
Pandere  res  alta  terra  et  caligine  mersas ! 
Ibant  obscuri,  sola  sub  nocte,  per  umbram, 
Perque  domos  Ditis  vacuas,  et  inania  regna. 

Ye  subterraneous  gods  !  whose  awful  sway 
The  gliding  ghosts  and  silent  shades  obey : 
O  Chaos,  hear !  and  Phlegethon  profound  ! 
Whose  solemn  empire  stretches  wide  around ! 
Give  me,  ye  great  tremendous  powers,  to  tell 
Of  scenes  and  wonders  in  the  depth  of  hell : 
Give  me  your  mighty  secrets  to  display 
From  those  black  realms  of  darkness  to  the  day. 

Pitt. 

Obscure  they  went  through  dreary  shades  that  led 
Along  the  waste  dominions  of  the  dead. 

Dryden. 


102  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

SECT.  VII. 


VASTNESS. 


CrREATNESS  *  of  dimension  is  a  power- 
ful cause  of  the  sublime.  This  is  too  evident, 
and  the  observation  too  common,  to  need  any 
illustration  j  it  is  not  so  common  to  consider 
in  what  ways  greatness  of  dimension,  vastness 
of  extent,  or  quantity,  has  the  most  striking 
effect :  for  certainly  there  are  ways  and  modes 
wherein  the  same  quantity  of  extension  shall 
produce  greater  effects  than  it  is  found  to  do 
in  others.  Extension  is  either  in  length, 
height,  or  depth.  Of  these  the  length  strikes 
least ;  an  hundred  yards  of  even  ground  will 
never  work  such  an  effect  as  a  tower  an  hun- 
dred yards  high,  or  a  rock  or  mountain  of  that 
altitude.  I  am  apt  to  imagine  likewise,  that 
height  is  less  grand  than  depth  j  and  that  we 
are  more  struck  at  looking  down  from  a  pre- 
cipice, than  looking  up  at  an  object  of  equal 
height:  but  of  that  I  am  not  very  positive. 
A  perpendicular  has  more  force  in  forming 
the  sublime,  than  an  inclined  plane  ;  and  the 

*  Part  IV.  sect.  9. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  103 

effects  of  a  rugged  and  broken  surface  seem 
stronger  than  where  it  is  smooth  and  polished. 
It  would  carry  us  out  of  our  way  to  enter  in 
this  place  into  the  cause  of  these  appearances  ; 
but  certain  it  is  they  afford  a  large  and  fruit- 
ful field  of  speculation.  However,  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  add  to  these  remarks  upon 
magnitude,  that  as  the  great  extreme  of  di- 
mension is  sublime,  so  the  last  extreme  of 
littleness  is  in  some  measure  sublime  like- 
wise ;  when  we  attend  to  the  infinite  divisibi- 
lity of  matter,  when  we  pursue  animal  life 
into  these  excessively  small,  and  yet  organ- 
ized beings,  that  escape  the  nicest  inquisition 
of  the  sense  ;  when  we  push  our  discoveries 
yet  downward,  and  consider  those  creatures 
so  many  degrees  yet  smaller,  and  the  still  di- 
minishing scales  of  existence,  in  tracing  which 
the  imagination  is  lost  as  well  as  the  sense, 
we  become  amazed  and  confounded  at  the 
wonders  of  minuteness  ;  nor  can  we  distin- 
guish in  its  effect  this  extreme  of  littleness 
from  the  vast  itself;  for  division  must  be  in- 
finite, as  well  as  addition ;  because  the  idea  of 
a  perfect  unity  can  no  more  be  arrived  at  than 
that  of  a  complete  whole,  to  which  nothing 
may  be  added. 


104  ON  THE  SUBLIME 


SECT.  VIII. 

INFINITY. 

ANOTHER  source  of  the  sublime  is  Inf. 
nity  ;  if  it  does  not  rather  belong  to  the  last. 
Infinity  has  a  tendency  to  fill  the  mind  with 
that  sort  of  delightful  horror  which  is  the  most 
genuine  effect  and  truest  test  of  the  sublime. 
There  are  scarce  any  things  which  can  be- 
come the  objects  of  our  senses,  that  are  really 
and  in  their  own  nature  infinite  :  but  the  eye 
not  being  able  to  perceive  the  bounds  of  many 
things,  they  seem  to  be  infinite,  and  they 
produce  the  same  effects  as  if  they  were  really 
so.  We  are  deceived  in  the  like  manner,  if 
the  parts  of  some  large  object  are  so  continued 
to  any  indefinite  number,  that  the  inagination 
meets  no  check  which  may  hinder  its  extend- 
ing them  at  pleasure. 

Whenever  we  repeat  any  idea  frequently, 
the  mind,  by  a  sort  of  mechanism,  repeats  it 
long  after  the  first  cause  has  ceased  to  ope- 
rate.*    After   whirling  about,   when  we  sit 

*  Part  IV.  sect.  12. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  105 

down,  the  objects  about  us  still  seem  to  whirl. 
After  a  long  succession  of  noises,  as  the  fall 
of  waters,  or  the  beating  of  forge-hammers, 
the  hammers  beat  and  the  water  roars  in  the 
imagination  long  after  the  first  sounds  have 
ceased  to  affect  it ;  and  they  die  away  at  last 
by  gradations  which  are  scarcely  perceptible. 
If  you  hold  up  a  straight  pole,  with  your  eye 
to  one  end,  it  will  seem  extended  to  a  length 
almost  incredible.*  Place  a  number  of  uni- 
form and  equidistant  marks  on  this  pole,  they 
will  cause  the  same  deception,  and  seem  mul- 
tiplied without  end.  The  senses,  strongly 
affected  in  some  one  manner,  cannot  quickly 
change  their  tenor,  or  adapt  themselves  to 
other  things  ;  but  they  continue  in  their  old 
channel  until  the  strength  of  the  first  mover 
decays.  This  is  the  reason  of  an  appearance 
very  frequent  in  madmen,  that  they  remain 
whole  days  and  nights,  sometimes  whole 
years,  in  the  constant  repetition  of  some  re- 
mark, some  complaint,  or  song ;  which  hav- 
ing struck  powerfully  on  their  disordered 
imagination  in  the  beginning  of  their  phren- 
zy,  every  repetition  reinforces  it  with  new 

*  Part  IV.  sect.  14. 
K 


/ 


106  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

strength  ;  and  the  hurry  of  their  spirits,  un- 
restrained by  the  curb  of  reason,  continues  it 
to  the  end  of  their  lives. 


SECT.  IX. 

SUCCESSION    AND    UNIFORMITY. 

oUCCESSION  and  uniformity  of  parts  are 
what  constitute  the  artificial  infinite.  1.  Succes- 
sion; which  is  requisite,  that  the  parts  may  be 
continued  so  long  and  in  such  a  direction  as, 
by  their  frequent  impulses  on  the  sense,  to 
impress  the  imagination  with  an  idea  of  their 
progress  beyond  their  actual  limits.  2.  Uni- 
formity ;  because,  if  the  figures  of  the  parts 
should  be  changed,  the  imagination  at  every 
change  finds  a  check  ;  you  are  presented,  at 
every  alteration,  with  the  termination  of  one 
idea  and  the  begining  of  another  ;  by  which 
means  it  becomes  impossible  to  continue  that 
uninteiTupted  progression  which  alone  can 
stamp  on  bounded  objects  the  character  of  in- 
finity.*    It  is  in  this  kind  of  artificial  infini- 

*  Mr.  Addison,   in   the  Spectators  concerning"  the 
pleasures  of  the  imagination,  thinks  it  is,  because,  in  the 
rotund,  at  one  glance,  you  see  half  the  building*.   This 
do  not  imagine  to  be  the  real  cause. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  107 

ty,  I  believe,  we  ought  to  look  for  the  cause 
why  a  rotund  has  such  a  noble  effect  j  for,  in 
a  rotund,  whether  it  be  a  building  or  a  planta- 
tion, you  can  no  where  fix  a  boundary  ;  turn 
which  way  you  will,  the  same  object  still 
seems  to  continue,  and  the  imagination  has  no 
rest.  But  the  parts  must  be  uniform,  as  well 
as  circularly  disposed,  to  give  this  figure  its 
full  force  ;  because  any  difference,  whether 
it  be  in  the  disposition  or  in  the  figure,  or 
even  in  the  colour  of  the  parts,  is  highly  pre- 
judicial to  the  idea  of  infinity,  which  every 
change  must  check  and  interrupt  at  every  al- 
teration commencing  a  new  series.  On  the 
same  principles  of  succession  and  uniformity, 
the  grand  appearance  of  the  ancient  heathen 
temples,  which  were  generally  oblong  forms, 
with  a  range  of  uniform  pillars  on  every  side, 
will  be  easily  accounted  for.  From  the  same 
cause  also  may  be  derived  the  grand  effect  of 
our  aisles  in  many  of  our  own  old  cathedrals. 
The  form  of  a  cross  used  in  some  churches 
seems  to  me  not  so  eligible  as  the  parallelo- 
gram of  the  ancients  j  at  least,  I  imagine  it 
is  not  so  proper  for  the  outside  ;  for,  suppos- 
ing the  arms  of  the  cross  every  way  equal,  if 
you  stand  in  a  direction  parallel  to  any  of  the 


108  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

side-walls,  or  colonnades,  instead  of  a  decep. 
tion  that  makes  the  building  more  extended 
than  it  is,  you  are  Cut  off  from  a  considerable 
part  (two  thirds)  of  its  actual  length  ;  and,  to 
prevent  all  possibility  of  progression,  the 
arms  of  the  cross,  taking  a  new  direction, 
make  a  right  angle  with  the  beam,  and  thereby 
wholly  turn  the  imagination  from  the  repeti- 
tion of  the  former  idea.  Or  suppose  the  spec- 
tator placed  where  he  may  take  a  direct  view 
of  such  a  building,  what  will  be  the  conse- 
quence ?  the  necessary  consequence  will  be, 
that  a  good  part  of  the  basis  of  each  angle, 
formed  by  the  intersection  of  the  arms  of  the 
cross,  must  be  inevitably  lost;  the  whole 
must  of  course  assume  a  broken  unconnected 
figure;  the  lights  must  be  unequal,  here 
strong,  and  there  weak ;  without  that  noble 
gradation  which  the  perspective  always  effects 
on  parts  disposed  uninterruptedly  in  a  right 
line.  Some  or  all  of  these  objections  will  lie 
against  every  figure  of  a  cross,  in  whatever 
view  you  take  it.  I  exemplified  them  in  the 
Greek  cross,  in  which  these  faults  appear  the 
most  strongly ;  but  they  appear  in  some  de- 
gree in  all  sorts  of  crosses.  Indeed,  there  is 
nothing  more  prejudicial  to  the  grandeur  of 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  109 

buildings,  than  to  abound  in  angles — a  fault 
obvious  in  many,  and  owing  to  an  inordinate 
thirst  for  variety,  which,  whenever  it  pre- 
vails, is  sure  to  leave  very  little  true  taste. 


SECT.  X. 

MAGNITUDE    IN    BUILDING. 

To  the  sublime  in  building,  greatness  of  di- 
mension seems  requisite  ;  for,  on  a  few  parts, 
and  those  small,  the  imagination  cannot  rise 
to  any  idea  of  infinity.  No  greatness  in  the 
manner  can  effectually  compensate  for  the 
want  of  proper  dimensions.  There  is  no  dan- 
ger of  drawing  men  into  extravagant  designs 
by  this  rule  ;  it  carries  its  own  caution  along 
with  it ;  because  too  great  a  length  in  build- 
ings destroys  the  purpose  of  greatness,  which 
it  was  intended  to  promote  :  the  perspective 
will  lessen  it  in  height  as  it  gains  in  length, 
and  will  bring  it  at  last  to  a  point,  turning  the 
whole  figure  into  a  sort  of  triangle,  the  poor- 
est in  its  effect  of  almost  any  figure  that  can 
be  presented  to  the  eye.  I  have  ever  observ- 
ed, that  colonnades,  and  avenues  of  trees  of  a 
moderate  length,  were,  without  comparison,  far 

k2 


110  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

grander  than  when  they  were  suffered  to  run 
to  immense  distances.  A  true  artist  should 
put  a  generous  deceit  on  the  spectators,  and 
effect  the  noblest  designs  by  easy  methods. 
Designs  that  are  vast  only  by  their  dimen- 
sions are  always  the  sign  of  a  common  and 
low  imagination.  No  work  of  art  can  be 
great,  but  as  it  deceives  ;  to  be  otherwise,  is 
the  prerogative  of  nature  only.  A  good  eye 
will  fix  the  medium  betwixt  an  excessive 
length  or  height  (for  the  same  objection  lies 
against  both)  and  a  short  or  broken  quantity : 
and  perhaps  it  might  be  ascertained  to  a  tole- 
rable degree  of  exactness,  if  it  was  my  pur- 
pose to  descend  far  into  the  particulars  of  any 
art. 


SECT.  XI. 

INFINITY    IN    PLEASING    OBJECTS. 

INFINITY,  though  of  another  kind,  causes 
much  of  our  pleasure  in  agreeable,  as  well  as 
of  our  delight  in  sublime  images.  The  spring 
is  the  pleasantest  of  the  seasons;  and  the 
young  of  most  animals,  though  far  from  being 
completely  fashioned,  afford  a  more  agreeable 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  Ill 

sensation  than  the  full  grown,  because  the 
imagination  is  entertained  with  the  promise  of 
something  more,  and  does  not  acquiesce  in 
the  present  object  of  the  sense.  In  unfinished 
sketches  of  drawing,  I  have  often  seen  some 
things  which  pleased  me  beyond  the  best  fi- 
nishing; and  this,  I  believe,  proceeds  from 
the  cause  I  have  just  now  assigned. 

SECT.  XII. 

DIFFICULTY. 

ANOTHER  source  of  greatness  is  Difficul- 
ty.* When  any  work  seems  to  have  requir- 
ed immense  force  and  labour  to  effect  it,  the 
idea  is  grand.  Stonehenge,  neither  for  dispo- 
sition nor  ornament,  has  any  thing  admirable ; 
but  those  huge  rude  masses  of  stone,  set  on 
end  and  piled  on  each  other,  turn  the  mind  on 
the  immense  force  necessary  for  such  a  work : 
nay,  the  rudeness  of  the  work  increases  this 
cause  of  grandeur,  as  it  excludes  the  idea  of 
art  and  contrivance  ;  for  dexterity  produces 
another  sort  of  effect,  which  is  different 
enough  from  this. 

Part  IV.  sect.  4,  5,  6. 


112  ON  THE  SUBLIME 


SECT.  XIII. 

MAGNIFICENCE. 

Magnificence  is  likewise  a  source  of 

the  sublime.  A  great  profusion  of  things, 
which  are  splendid  or  valuable  in  themselves, 
is  magnificent.  The  stany  heaven,  though  it 
occurs  so  very  frequently  to  our  view,  never 
fails  to  excite  an  idea  of  grandeur.  This 
cannot  be  owing  to  any  thing  in  the  stars 
themselves,  separately  considered.  The  num- 
ber is  certainly  the  cause.  The  apparent  dis- 
order augments  the  grandeur  ;  for  the  appear- 
ance of  care  is  highly  contrary  to  our  ideas  of 
magnificence.  Besides,  the  stars  lie  in  such 
apparent  confusion  as  makes  it  impossible,  on 
ordinary  occasions,  to  reckon  them.  This 
gives  them  the  advantage  of  a  sort  of  infinity. 
In  works  of  art,  this  kind  of  grandeur,  which 
consists  in  multitude,  is  to  be  very  cautiously 
admitted ;  because  a  profusion  of  excellent 
things  is  not  to  be  attained,  or  with  too  much 
difficulty ;  and  because  in  many  cases  this 
splendid    confusion  would   destroy   all  use, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  H3 

which  should  be  attended  to,  in  most  of  the 
works  of  art,  with  the  greatest  care  :  besides, 
it  is  to  be  considered,  that  unless  you  can 
produce  an  appearance  of  infinity  by  your 
disorder,  you  will  have  disorder  only,  with- 
out  magnificence.     There  are,    however,    a 
sort  of  fire-works,  and  some  other  things,  that 
in  this  way  succeed  well,  and  are  truly  grand. 
There  are  also  many  descriptions  in  the  poets 
and  orators  which  owe  their  sublimity  to  a 
richness  and  profusion  of  images,  in  which 
the  mind  is  so  dazzled  as  to  make  it  impossi- 
ble  to  attend  to   that  exact   coherence    and 
agreement  of  the  allusions  which  we  should 
require  on  every  other  occasion.     I  do  not 
now  remember  a  more  striking  example  of 
this  than  the  description  which  is  given  of  the 
king's  army  in  the  play  of  Henry  the  Fourth : 

All  furnish'd,  all  in  arms, 
All  plum'd  like  ostriches  that  with  the  wind 
Baited  like  eagles  having  lately  bathed: 
As  full  of  spirit  as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gorgeous  as  the  sun  in  midsummer, 
Wanton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  young  bulls. 
I  saw  young  Harry  with  his  beaver  on 
Rise  from  the  ground  like  feather'd  Mercury, 
And  vaulted  with  such  ease  into  his  seat 
As  if  an  angel  dropped  from  the  clouds 
To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus. 


114  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

In  that  excellent  book,  so  remarkable  for 
the  vivacity  of  its  descriptions,  as  well  as  the 
solidity  and  penetration  of  its  sentences,  the 
Wisdom  of  the  Son  of  Sirach,  there  is  a  noble 
panegyric  on  the  high-priest,  Simon  the  son 
of  Onias  ;  and  it  is  a  very  f.ne  example  of 
the  point  before  us  : 

How  was  he  honoured  in  the  midst  of  the 
people,  in  his  coming  out  of  the  sanctuary ! 
He  zvas  as  the  morning  star  in  the  midst  of  a 
cloud,  and  as  the  moon  at  the  full;  as  the  sun 
shining  upon  the  temple  of  the  Most  High, 
and  as  the  rainbozv  giving  light  in  the  bright 
clouds:  and  as  the  fozver  of  roses  in  the  spring 
of  the  year,  as  lilies  by  the  rivers  of  zvaters, 
and  as  the  frankincense-tree  in  summer ;  as 
fire  and  incense  in  the  censer,  and  as  a  vessel 
of  gold  set  zvith  precious  stones ;  as  a  fair 
olive-tree  budding  forth  fruit,  and  as  a  cypress 
which  groweth  up  to  the  clouds.  When  he  put 
on  the  robe  of  honour,  and  zvas  cloathed  with 
the  perfection  of  glory,  when  he  went  up  to  the 
holy  altar,  he  made  the  garment  of  holiness 
honourable.  He  himself  stood  by  the  hearth  of 
the  altar,  compassed  with  his  brethren  round 
about ;  as  a  young  cedar  in  Libanus,  and  as. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  115 

palm-trees  compassed  they  him  about.  So  zvere 
all  the  sons  of  Aaron  in  their  glory,  and  the 
oblations  of  the  Lord  in  their  hands,  &?c. 

SECT.   XIV. 

LIGHT. 

HAVING  considered  extension,  so  far  as  it 
is  capable  of  raising  ideas  of  greatness,  colour 
comes  next  under  consideration.  All  colours 
depend  on  light.  Light,  therefore,  ought 
previously  to  be  examined  ;  and  with  it  its 
opposite,  darkness.  With  regard  to  light,  to 
make  it  a  cause  capable  of  producing  the 
sublime,  it  must  be  attended  with  some  cir- 
cumstances besides  its  bare  faculty  of  shewing 
other  objects.  Mere  light  is  too  common  a 
thing  to  make  a  strong  impression  on  the 
mind;  and  without  a  strong  impression  no- 
thing can  be  sublime.  But  such  a  light  as 
that  of  the  sun,  immediately  exerted  on  the 
eye,  as  it  overpowers  the  sense,  is  a  very 
great  idea.  Light  of  an  inferior  strength  to 
this,  if  it  moves  with  great  celerity,  has  the 
same  power;  for  lightning  is  certainly  pro- 
ductive of  grandeur,  which  it  owes  chiefly  to 


116  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

the  extreme  velocity  of  its  motion.  A  quick 
transition  from  light  to  darkness,  or  from 
darkness  to  light,  has  yet  a  greater  effect. 
But  darkness  is  more  productive  of  sublime 
ideas  than  light.  Our  great  poet  was  con- 
vinced of  this  ;  and  indeed  so  full  was  he  of 
this  idea,  so  entirely  possessed  with  the  power 
of  a  well-managed  darkness,  that  in  describ- 
ing the  appearance  of  the  Deity,  amidst  that 
profusion  of  magnificent  images  which  the 
grandeur  of  his  subject  provokes  him  to  pour 
out  upon  every  side,  he  is  far  from  forgetting 
the  obscurity  which  surrounds  the  most  in- 
comprehensible of  all  beings,  but 

With  the  majesty  of  darkness  round 
Circles  his  throne. 

And,  what  is  no  less  remarkable,  our  author 
had  the  secret  of  preserving  this  idea,  even 
when  he  seemed  to  depart  the  farthest  from 
it,  when  he  describes  the  light  and  glory  which 
flows  from  the  divine  presence  ;  a  light  which, 
by  its  very  excess,  is  converted  into  a  species 
of  darkness: 

Dark  with  excessive  light  thy  skirts  appear. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL,  117 

Here  is  an  idea  not  only  poetical  in  an  high 
degree,  but  strictly  and  philosophically  just. 
Extreme  light,  by  overcoming  the  organs  of 
sight,  obliterates  all  objects,  so  as  in  its  effect 
exactly  to  resemble  darkness.  After  looking 
for  some  time  at  the  sun,  two  black  spots,  the 
impression  which  it  leaves,  seem  to  dance  be- 
fore our  eyes.  Thus  are  two  ideas,  as  oppo- 
site as  can  be  imagined,  reconciled  in  the  ex- 
tremes of  both  ;  and  both,  in  spite  of  their  op- 
posite nature,  brought  to  concur  in  producing 
the  sublime.  And  this  it  not  the  only  instance 
wherein  the  opposite  extremes  operate  equal- 
ly in  favour  of  the  sublime,  which  in  all  things 
abhors  mediocrity. 

SECT.  XV. 

LIGHT    IN    BUILDING. 

AS  the  management  of  light  is  a  matter  of 
importance  in  architecture,  it  is  worth  inquir- 
ing how  far  this  remark  is  applicable  to  build- 
ing. I  think,  then,  that  all  edifices  calcu- 
lated to  produce  an  idea  of  the  sublime  ought 
rather  to  be  dark  and  gloomy  ;  and  this  for 
two  reasons  :    the  first  is  that  darkness  itself, 

L 


118  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

on  other  occasions,  is  known  by  experience 
to  have  a  greater  effect  on  the  passions  than 
light.  The  second  is,  that,  to  make  an  object 
very  striking,  we  should  make  it  as  different 
as  possible  from  the  objects  with  which  we 
have  been  immediately  conversant;  when, 
therefore,  you  enter  a  building,  you  cannot 
pass  into  a  greater  light  than  you  had  in  the 
open  air :  to  go  into  one  some  few  degrees 
less  luminous,  can  make  only  a  trifling 
change ;  but,  to  make  the  transition  tho- 
roughly striking,  you  ought  to  pass  from  the 
greatest  light  to  as  much  darkness  as  is  con- 
sistent with  the  uses  of  architecture.  At  night 
the  contrary  rule  will  hold,  but  for  the  very 
same  reason  ;  and  the  more  highly  a  room  is 
then  illuminated,  the  grander  will  the  passi- 
on be. 


SECT.  XVI. 

COLOUR   CONSIDERED    AS   PRODUCTIVE   OF    THE 
SUBLIME. 

AMONG  colours,  such  as  are  soft  and 
cheerful  (except,  perhaps,  a  strong  red  which 
is  cheerful)  are  unfit  to  produce  grand  images. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  119 

An  immense  mountain,  covered  with  a  shin- 
ing green  turf,  is  nothing,  in  this  respect,  to 
one  dark  and  gloomy ;  the  cloudy  sky  is  more 
grand  than  the  blue,  and  night  more  sublime 
and  solemn  than  day.  Therefore,  in  histori- 
cal painting,  a  gay  or  gaudy  drapery  can  ne- 
ver have  a  happy  effect :  and  in  buildings, 
when  the  highest  degree  of  the  sublime  is  in- 
tended, the  materials  and  ornaments  ought 
neither  to  be  white,  nor  green,  nor  yellow, 
nor  blue,  nor  of  a  pale  red,  nor  violet,  nor 
spotted,  but  of  sad  and  fuscous  colours,  as 
black,  or  brown,  or  deep  purple,  and  the  like. 
Much  of  guilding,  mosaics,  painting,  or  sta- 
tues, contribute  but  little  to  the  sublime. 
This  rule  need  not  be  put  in  practice,  except 
where  an  uniform  degree  of  the  most  striking 
sublimity  is  to  be  produced,  and  that  in  every 
particular  ;  for  it  ought  to  be  observed,  that 
this  melancholy  kind  of  greatness,  though  it 
be  certainly  the  highest,  ought  not  to  be  stu- 
died in  all  sorts  of  edifices,  where  yet  gran- 
deur must  be  studied  ;  in  such  cases  the  sub- 
limity must  be  drawn  from  the  other  sources, 
with  a  strict  caution,  however,  against  any 
thing  light  and  riant ;  as  nothing  so  effectually 
deadens  the  whole  taste  of  the  sublime. 


120  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

SECT.  XVII. 


SOUND    AND    LOUDNESS. 


1  HE  eye  is  not  the  only  organ  of  sensation 
by  which  a  sublime  passion  may  be  produced. 
Sounds  have  a  great  power  in  these  as  in 
most  other  passions.  I  do  not  mean  words, 
because  words  do  not  affect  simply  by  their 
sounds,  but  by  means  altogether  different. 
Excessive  loudness  alone  is  sufficient  to  over- 
power the  soul,  to  suspend  its  action,  and  to 
fill  it  with  terror.  The  noise  of  vast  cataracts, 
raging  storms,  thunder,  or  artillery,  awakes  a 
great  and  awful  sensation  in  the  mind,  though 
we  can  observe  no  nicety  or  artifice  in  those 
sorts  of  music.  The  shouting  of  multitudes 
has  a  similar  effect ;  and,  by  the  sole  strength 
of  the  sound,  so  amazes  and  confounds  the 
imagination,  that,  in  this  staggering  and  hurry 
of  the  mind,  the  best-established  tempers  can 
scarcely  forbear  being  borne  down,  and  join- 
ing in  the  common  cry  and  common  resolu- 
tion of  the  crowd. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  121 


SECT.  XVIII. 


SUDDENNESS. 


A  SUDDEN  beginning,  or  sudden  cessation 
of  sound  of  any  considerable  force,  has  the 
same  power.  The  attention  is  roused  by  this  ; 
and  the  faculties  driven  forward,  as  it  were,  on 
their  guard.  Whatever,  either  in  sights  or 
sounds,  makes  the  transition  from  one  ex- 
treme to  the  other  easy,  causes  no  terror,  and 
consequently  can  be  no  cause  of  greatness. 
In  every  thing  sudden  and  unexpected,  we 
are  apt  to  start ;  that  is,  we  have  a  percep- 
tion of  danger,  and  our  nature  rouses  us  to 
guard  against  it.  It  may  be  observed,  that  a 
single  sound  of  some  strength,  though  but  of 
short  duration,  if  repeated  after  intervals,  has 
a  grand  effect.  Few  things  are  more  awful 
than  the  striking  of  a  great  clock,  when  the 
silence  of  the  night  prevents  the  attention 
from  being  too  much  dissipated.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  a  single  stroke  of  a  drum,  re- 
peated with  pauses  ;  and  of  the  successive 
firing  of  cannon  at  a  distance.    All  the  eifects 

L  2 


122  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

mentioned  in  this  section  have  causes  very 
nearly  alike. 

SECT.  XIX. 

INTERMITTING. 

A  LOW,  tremulous,  intermitting  sound, 
though  it  seems,  in  some  respects,  opposite  to 
that  just  mentioned,  is  productive  of  the  sub- 
lime. It  is  worth  while  to  examine  this  a  lit- 
tle. The  fact  itself  must  be  determined  by 
every  man's  own  experience  and  reflection. 
I  have  already  observed,*  that  night  increases 
our  terror  more,  perhaps,  than  any  thing  else : 
it  is  our  nature,  when  we  do  not  know  what 
may  happen  to  us,  to  fear  the  worst  that  can 
happen  ;  and  hence  it  is  that  uncertainty  is  so 
terrible,  that  we  often  seek  to  be  rid  of  it  at 
the  hazard  of  a  certain  mischief.  Now,  some 
low,  confused,  uncertain  sounds  leave  us  in 
the  same  fearful  anxiety  concerning  their 
causes,  that  no  light,  or  an  uncertain  light, 
does  concerning  the  objects  that  surround  us  : 

Quale  per  incertam  lunam  sub  luce  maligna 
Est  iter  in  sylvis. 

*  Sect.  3. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  123 

■  '  ■  A  faint  shadow  of  uncertain  light, 
Like  as  a  lamp,  whose  life  doth  fade  away  ; 
Or  as  the  moon,  clothed  with  cloudy  night, 
Doth  shew  to  him  who  walks  in  fear  and  great  affright. 

Spenser. 

But  a  light  now  appearing,  and  now  leaving 
us,  and  so  off  and  on,  is  even  more  terrible 
than  total  darkness  :  and  a  sort  of  uncertain 
sounds  are,  when  the  necessary  dispositions 
concur,  more  alarming  than  a  total  silence. 


SECT.  XX. 

THE    CRIES    OF    ANIMALS. 

OUCH  sounds  as  imitate  the  natural  inarti- 
culate voices  of  men,  or  any  animals  in  pain 
or  danger,  are  capable  of  conveying  great 
ideas,  unless  it  be  the  well-known  voice  of 
some  creature  on  which  we  are  used  to  look 
with  contempt.  The  angry  tones  of  wild 
beasts  are  equally  capable  of  causing  a  great 
and  awful  sensation. 

Hinc  exaudiri  gemitus,  irseque  leonum 
Vincla  recusantum,  et  sera  sub  nocte  rudentum  ; 
Setigerique  sues,  atque  in  praesepibus  ursi 
Saevire  ;  et  formse  magnorum  ululare  luporum. 


124  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

It  might  seem  that  these  modulations  of  sound 
carry  some  connection  with  the  nature  of  the 
things  they  represent,  and  are  not  merely  ar- 
bitrary ;  because  the  natural  cries  of  all  ani- 
mals, even  of  those  animals  with  whom  we 
have  not  been  acquainted,  never  fail  to  make 
themselves  sufficiently  understood  :  this  can- 
not be  said  of  language.  The  modifications 
of  sound,  which  may  be  productive  of  the 
sublime,  are  almost  infinite.  Those  I  have 
mentioned  are  only  a  few  instances,  to  shew 
on  what  principle  they  are  all  built. 

SECT.  XXI. 

SMELL  AND  TASTE,  BITTERS  AND  STENCHES. 

SMELLS  and  TASTE  have  some  share 
too  in  ideas  of  greatness  ;  but  it  is  a  small  one, 
weak  in  its  nature,  and  confined  in  its  opera- 
tions. I  shall  only  observe,  that  no  smells  or 
tastes  can  produce  a  grand  sensation,  except 
excessive  bitters  and  intolerable  stenches.  It 
is  true  that  these  affections  of  the  smell  and 
taste,  when  they  are  in  their  full  force,  and  lean 
directly  upon  the  sensory,  are  simply  painful, 
and  accompanied  with  no  sort  of  delight ;  but 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  125 

when  they  are  moderated,  as  in  a  description 
or  narrative,  they  become  sources  of  the  sub- 
lime, as  genuine  as  any  other,  and  upon  the 
very  same  principle  of  a  moderated  pain. 
"  A  cup  of  bitterness" — -u  to  drain  the  bitter 
"  cup  of  fortune" — u  the  bitter  apples  of  So- 
"  dom  j"  these  are  all  ideas  suitable  to  a  sub- 
lime description.  Nor  is  this  passage  of  Virgil 
without  sublimity,  where  the  stench  of  the 
vapour  in  Albunea  conspires  so  happily  with 
the  sacred  horror  and  gloominess  of  that  pro- 
phetic forest : 

Et  rex  solicitus  monstris  oracula  Fauni 
Fatidici  genitoris  adit,  lucosque  sub  alta 
Consulit  Albunea,  nemorum  quae  maxima  sacro 
Fonte  sonat ;  sxvamque  exhalat  opaca  Mephitim* 

In  the  sixth  book,  and  in  a  very  sublime  de- 
scription, the  poisonous  exhalation  of  Ache- 
ron is  not  forgot ;  nor  does  it  at  all  disagree 
with  the  other  images  amongst  which  it  is  in- 
troduced : 

Spelunca  alta  fuit,  vastoque  immanis  hiatu 
Scrupea,  tuta  lacu  nigro>  nemorumque  tenebris, 
Quam  super  haud  ullse  poterant  impune  volantes 
Tendere  iter  pennis,  talis  sese  halitus  atris 
Faucibus  effundens  supera  ad  convexajerebat. 


126  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

I  have  added  these  examples,  because  some 
friends,  for  whose  judgment  I  have  great  de- 
ference, were  of  opinion,  that,  if  the  sentiment 
stood  nakedly  by  itself,  it  would  be  subject, 
at  first  view,  to  burlesque  and  ridicule ;  but 
this,  I  imagine,  would  principally  arise  from 
considering  the  bitterness  and  stench  in  com- 
pany with  mean  and  contemptible  ideas,  with 
which,  it  must,  be  owned,  they  are  often  uni- 
ted ;  such  an  union  degrades  the  sublime  in 
all  other  instances  as  well  as  in  those.  But 
it  is  one  of  the  tests  by  which  the  sublimity 
of  an  image  is  to  be  tried,  not  whether  it  be- 
comes mean  when  associated  with  mean 
ideas  ;  but  whether,  when  united  with  images 
of  an  allowed  grandeur,  the  whole  composi- 
tion is  supported  with  dignity.  Things  which 
are  terrible  are  always  great ;  but  when  things 
possess  disagreeable  qualities,  or  such  as 
have  indeed  some  degree  of  danger,  but  of  a 
danger  easily  overcome,  they  are  merely 
odious,  as  toads  and  spiders. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  127 


SECT.  XXII. 


FEELING.     PAIN. 


OF  Feeling,  little  more  can  be  said  than 
that  the  idea  of  bodily  pain,  in  all  the  modes 
and  degrees  of  labour,  pain,  anguish,  torment, 
is  productive  of  the  sublime  ;  and  nothing 
else,  in  this  sense,  can  produce  it.  I  need  not 
give  here  any  fresh  instances,  as  those  given 
in  the  former  sections  abundantly  illustrate  a 
remark,  that  in  reality  wants  only  an  atten- 
tion to  nature  to  be  made  by  every  body. 


HAVING  thus  run  through  the  causes  of 
the  sublime  with  reference  to  all  the  senses, 
my  first  observation  (sect.  7.)  will  be  found 
very  nearly  true  ;  that  the  sublime  is  an  idea 
belonging  to  self-preservation ;  that  it  is  there- 
fore one  of  the  most  affecting  we  have  ;  that 
its  strongest  emotion  is  an  emotion  of  distress ; 
and  that  no  pleasure  *  from  a  positive  cause 

*  Vide  Part  1.  sect.  6, 


128  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

belongs  to  it.  Numberless  examples,  besides 
those  mentioned,  might  be  brought  in  sup- 
port of  these  truths,  and  many,  perhaps,  use- 
ful consequences  drawn  from  them — 

Sed  fug-it  interea,  fug-it  irrevocabile  tempus, 
Singula  dum  capti  ciscumvectamur  amore. 


SND    OF    THE    SE60NB    PAXT. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  INQUIRY 


INTO    THE 


ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS 


SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 


PART  III.     SECTION  I. 

OF    BEAUTY. 

IT  is  my  design  to  consider  beauty  as  distin- 
guished from  the  sublime  ;  and,  in  the  course 
of  the  inquiry,  to  examine  how  far  it  is  con- 
sistent with  it.  But,  previous  to  this,  we 
must  take  a  short  review  of  the  opinions  al- 
ready entertained  of  this  quality ;  which  I 
think  are  hardly  to  be  reduced  to  any  fixed 
principles ;  because  men  are  used  to  talk  of 
beauty  in  a  figurative  manner,  that  is  to  say, 
in  a  manner  extremely  uncertain  and  inde- 

M 


130  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

terminate.     By  beauty,  I  mean  that  quality, 
or  those  qualities  in  bodies  by  which   they 
cause  love,  or  some  passion  similar  to  it.     I 
confine  this  definition  to  the  merely  sensible 
qualities  of  things,  for  the  sake  of  preserving 
the  utmost  simplicity  in  a  subject  which  must 
always  distract  us,  whenever  we  take  in  those 
various  causes  of  sympathy  which  attach  us 
to  any  persons  or  things  from  secondary  con- 
siderations, and  not   from   the  direct  force 
which  they  have  merely  on  being  viewed.     I 
likewise  distinguish  love,  by  which  I  mean 
that  satisfaction  which  arises  to  the  mind  upon 
contemplating  any  thing  beautiful,  of  what- 
soever nature  it  may  be,  from  desire  or  lust, 
which  is  an  energy  of  the  mind  that  hurries 
us  on  to  the  possession  of  certain  objects  that 
do  not  affect  us  as  they  are  beautiful,  but  by 
means  altogether  different.     We  shall  have  a 
strong  desire  for  a  woman  of  no  remarkable 
beauty,   whilst  the   greatest  beauty  in  men, 
or  in  other  animals,  though  it  causes  love, 
yet  it  excites  nothing  at  all  of  desire  ;    which 
shews  that  beauty,  and  the  passion  caused  by 
beauty,  which  I  call  love,  is  different  from 
desire,  though  desire  may  sometimes  operate 
along  with  it ;   but  it  is  to  this  latter  that  we 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  131 

must  attribute  those  violent  and  tempestuous 
passions,  and  the  consequent  emotions  of  the 
body  which  attend  what  is  called  love  in 
some  of  its  ordinary  acceptations,  and  not  to 
the  effects  of  beauty  merely  as  it  is  such. 


SECT.  II. 

PROPORTION    NOT    THE    CAUSE    OF    BEAUTY 
IN    VEGETABLES. 

BEAUTY  hath  usually  been  said  to  consist 
in  certain  proportions  of  parts.  On  consider- 
ing the  matter,  I  have  great  reason  to  doubt 
whether  beauty  be  at  all  an  idea  belonging  to 
proportion.  Proportion  relates  almost  wholly 
"to  convenience,  as  every  idea  of  order  seems 
to  do ;  and  it  must  therefore  be  considered  as 
a  creature  of  the  understanding,  rather  than  a 
primary  cause  acting  on  the  senses  and  ima- 
gination. It  is  not  by  the  force  of  long  at- 
tention and  inquiry  that  we  find  any  object  to 
be  beautiful :  beauty  demands  no  assistance 
from  our  reasoning ;  even  the  will  is  uncon- 
cerned :  the  appearance  of  beauty  as  effec- 
tually causes  some  degree  of  love  in  us,  as 


,132  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

the  application  of  ice  or  fire  produces  the 
ideas  of  heat  or  cold.  To  gain  something  like 
a  satisfactory  conclusion  in  this  point,  it  were 
well  to  examine  what  proportion  is,  since  se- 
veral who  make  use  of  that  word  do  not  al- 
ways seem  to  understand  very  clearly  the 
force  of  the  term,  nor  to  have  very  distinct 
ideas  concerning  the  thing  itself.  Proportion 
is  the  measure  of  relative  quantity.  Since  all 
quantity  is  divisible,  it  is  evident  that  every 
distinct  part,  into  which  any  quantity  is  di- 
vided, must  bear  some  relation  to  the  other 
parts,  or  to  the  whole.  These  relations  give 
an  origin  to  the  idea  of  proportion.  They 
are  discovered  by  mensuration  ;  and  they  are 
the  objects  of  mathematical  inquiry.  But 
whether  any  part  of  any  determinate  quantity 
be  a  fourth,  or  a  fifth,  or  a  sixth,  or  moiety 
of  the  whole  ;  or  whether  it  be  of  equal  length 
with  any  other  part,  or  double  its  length,  or 
but  one  half,  is  a  matter  merely  indifferent 
to  the  mind ;  it  stands  neuter  in  the  question : 
and  it  is  from  this  absolute  indifference  and 
tranquillity  of  the  mind  that  mathematical 
speculations  derive  some  of  their  most  consi- 
derable advantages ;  because  there  is  nothing 
to  interest  the  imagination  -3  because  the  judg- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  133 

ment  sits  free  and  unbiassed  to  examine  the 
point.  All  proportions,  every  arrangement 
of  quantity,  is  alike  to  the  understanding, 
because  the  same  truths  result  to  it  from 
all ;  from  greater,  from  lesser,  from  equality 
and  inequality.  But  surely  beauty  is  no 
idea  belonging  to  mensuration ;  nor  has  it 
any  thing  to  do  with  calculation  and  geo- 
metry. If  it  had,  we  might  then  point  out 
some  certain  measures  which  we  could  de- 
monstrate to  be  beautiful,  either  as  simply 
considered,  or  as  related  to  others  ;  and  we 
could  call  in  those  natural  objects,  for  whose 
beauty  we  have  no  voucher  but  the  sense,  to 
this  happy  standard,  and  confirm  the  voice  of 
our  passions  by  the  determination  of  our  rea- 
son. But,  since  we  have  not  this  help,  let 
us  see  whether  proportion  can  in  any  sense 
be  considered  as  the  cause  of  beauty,  as  hath 
been  so  generally,  and  by  some  so  confident- 
ly, affirmed.  If  proportion  be  one  of  the 
constituents  of  beauty,  it  must  derive  that 
power  either  from  some  natural  properties 
inherent  in  certain  measures  which  operate 
mechanically ;  from  the  operation  of  custom  ; 
or  from  the  fitness  which  some  measures  have 
to  answer  some   particular  ends   of  conve- 

m  2 


134  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

niency.  Our  business,  therefore,  is  to  in- 
quire whether  the  parts  of  those  objects, 
which  are  found  beautiful  in  the  vegetable  or 
animal  kingdoms,  are  constantly  so  formed 
according  to  such  certain  measures,  as  may 
serve  to  satisfy  us  that  their  beauty  results 
from  those  measures  on  the  principle  of  a 
natural  mechanical  cause  ;  or  from  custom ; 
or,  in  fine,  from  their  fitness  for  any  deter- 
minate purposes.  I  intend  to  examine  this 
point  under  each  of  these  heads  in  their  order. 
But,  before  I  proceed  further,  I  hope  it  will 
not  be  thought  amiss  if  I  lay  down  the  rules 
which  governed  me  in  this  inquiry,  and 
which  have  misled  me  in  it,  if  I  have  gone 
astray.  1.  If  two  bodies  produce  the  same 
or  a  similar  effect  on  the  mind,  and  on  exa- 
mination they  are  found  to  agree  in  some  of 
their  properties,  and  to  differ  in  others,  the 
common  effect  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  pro- 
perties in  which  they  agree,  and  not  to  those 
in  which  they  differ.  2.  Not  to  account  for 
the  effect  of  a  natural  object  from  the  effect 
of  an  artificial  object.  3.  Not  to  account  for 
the  effect  of  any  natural  object  from  a  con- 
clusion of  our  reason  concerning  its  uses,  if 
a  natural  cause  may  be  assigned.     4.  Not  to 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  135 

admit  any  determinate  quantity,  or  any  rela- 
tion of  quantity,  as  the  cause  of  a  certain  ef- 
fect, if  the  effect  is  produced  by  different  or 
opposite  measures  and  relations  ;  or  if  these 
measures  and  relations  may  exist,  and  yet  the 
effect  may  not  be  produced.  These  are  the 
rules  which  I  have  chiefly  followed  whilst  I 
examined  into  the  power  of  proportion  consi- 
dered as  a  natural  cause ;  and  these,  if  he 
thinks  them  just,  I  request  the  reader  to  carry 
with  him  throughout  the  following  discussion, 
whilst  we  inquire,  in  the  first  place,  in  what 
things  we  find  this  quality  of  beauty ;  next, 
to  see  whether  fi  these  we  can  find  any  as- . 
signable  proportions,  in  such  a  manner  as 
ought  to  convince  us  that  our  idea  of  beauty 
results  from  them.  We  shall  consider  this 
pleasing  power  as  it  appears  in  vegetables,  in 
the  inferior  animals,  and  in  man.  Turning 
our  eyes  to  the  vegetable  creation,  we  find 
nothing  there  so  beautiful  as  flowers ;  but 
flowers  are  almost  of  every  sort  of  shape,  and 
of  every  sort  of  disposition ;  they  are  turned 
and  fashioned  into  an  infinite  variety  of 
forms  ;  and,  from  these  forms,  botanists  have 
given  them  their  names,  which  are  almost  as 
various.     What  proportion  do  we  discover 


136  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

between  the  stalks  and  the  leaves  of  flowers, 
or  between  the  leaves  and  the  pistils  ?  How 
does  the  slender  stalk  of  the  rose  agree  with 
the  bulky  head  under  which  it  bends  ?  But 
the  rose  is  a  beautiful  flower;  and  can  we 
undertake  to  say  that  it  does  not  owe  a  great 
deal  of  its  beauty  even  to  that  disproportion  ? 
The  rose  is  a  large  flower,  yet  it  grows  upon 
a  small  shrub :  the  flower  of  the  apple  is  very 
small,  and  grows  upon  a  large  tree  ;  yet  the 
rose  and  the  apple-blossom  are  both  beautiful, 
and  the  plants  that  bear  them  are  most  en- 
gagingly attired,  notwithstanding  this  dispro- 
portion. What,  by  general  consent,  is  al- 
lowed to  be  a  more  beautiful  object  than  an 
orange-tree,  flourishing  at  once  with  its 
leaves,  its  blossoms,  and  its  fruit  ?  But  it  is 
in  vain  that  we  search  here  for  any  proportion 
between  the  height,  the  breadth,  or  any  thing 
else  concerning  the  dimensions  of  the  whole, 
or  concerning  the  relation  of  the  particular 
parts  to  each  other.  I  grant  that  we  may  ob- 
serve in  many  flowers  something  of  a  regular 
figure,  and  of  a  methodical  disposition  of  the 
leaves.  The  rose  has  such  a  figure  and  such 
a  disposition  of  its  petals;  but,  in  an  oblique 
view,  when  this  figure  is  in  a  good  measure 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.         t     137 

lost,  and  the  order  of  the  leaves  confounded, 
it  yet  retains  its  beauty;  the  rose  is  even 
more  beautiful  before  it  is  full  blown;  and 
the  bud,  before  this  exact  figure  is  formed : 
and  this  is  not  the  only  instance  wherein  me- 
thod and  exactness,  the  soul  of  proportion, 
are  found  rather  prejudicial  than  serviceable 
to  the  cause  of  beauty. 


SECT.  III. 

PROPORTION    NOT    THE    CAUSE    OF    BEAUTY 
IN    ANIMALS. 

1  HAT  proportion  has  but  a  small  share  in 
the  formation  of  beauty  is  full  as  evident 
among  animals.  Here  the  greatest  variety  of 
shapes,  and  disproportions  of  parts,  are  well 
fitted  to  excite  this  idea.  The  swan,  confess- 
edly a  beautiful  bird,  has  a  neck  longer  than 
the  rest  of  his  body,  and  but  a  very  short  tail: 
is  this  a  beautiful  proportion  ?  we  must  allow 
that  it  is.  But  then,  what  shall  we  say  to  the 
peacock,  who  has  comparatively  but  a  short 
neck,  with  a  tail  longer  than  the  neck  and  the 
rest  of  the  body  taken  together  ?    How  many 


138  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

birds  are  there  that  vary  infinitely  from  each 
of  these  standards,  and  from  every  other 
which  you  can  fix,  with  proportions  differ- 
ent, and  often  directly  opposite  to  each  other ! 
and  yet  many  of  these  birds  are  extremely 
beautiful ;  when,  upon  considering  them,  we 
find  nothing  in  any  one  part  that  might  deter- 
mine us,  a  priori,  to  say  what  the  others 
ought  to  be,  nor  indeed  to  guess  any  thing 
about  them,  but  what  experience  might  shew 
to  be  full  of  disappointment  and  mistake. 
And  with  regard  to  the  colours  either  of  birds 
or  flowers,  for  there  is  something  similar  in 
the  colouring  of  both,  whether  they  are  con- 
sidered in  their  extension  or  gradation,  there 
is  nothing  of  proportion  to  be  observed. 
Some  are  of  but  one  single  colour,  others 
have  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow ;  some 
are  of  the  primary  colours,  others  are  of  the 
mixt;  in  short,  an  attentive  observer  may 
soon  conclude  that  there  is  as  little  of  propor- 
tion in  the  colouring  as  in  the  shapes  of  these 
objects.  Turn  next  to  beasts  :  examine  the 
head  of  a  beautiful  horse  ;  find  what  propor- 
tion that  bears  to  his  body,  and  to  his  limbs, 
and  what  relations  these  have  to  each  other  ; 
and,  when  you  have  settled  these  proportions 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  139 

as  a  standard  of  beauty,  then  take  a  dog  or 
cat,  or  any  other  animal,  and  examine  how 
far  the  same  proportions  between  their  heads 
and  their  neck,  between  those  and  the  body, 
and  so  on,  are  found  to  hold ;  I  think  we  may 
safely  say,  that  they  differ  in  every  species ; 
yet  that  there  are  individuals  found  in  a  great 
many  species  so  differing,  that  have  a  very 
striking  beauty.  Now,  if  it  be  allowed  that 
very  different,  and  even  contrary,  forms  and 
dispositions  are  consistent  with  beauty,  it 
amounts,  I  believe,  to  a  concession,  that  no 
certain  measures,  operating  from  a  natural 
principle,  are  necessary  to  produce  it,  at 
least  so  far  as  the  brute  species  is  concerned. 


SECT.  IV. 

PROPORTION    NOT    THE    CAUSE    OF    BEAUTY 
IN    THE    HUMAN    SPECIES. 

X  HERE  are  some  parts  of  the  human  body 
that  are  observed  to  hold  certain  proportions 
to  each  other ;  but,  before  it  can  be  proved 
that  the  efficient  cause  of  beauty  lies  in  these, 
it  must  be  shewn  that,  wherever  these  arc 


140  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

found  exact,  the  person  to  whom  they  belong 
is  beautiful :  I  mean  in  the  effect  produced 
on  the  view,  either  of  any  member  distinctly 
considered,  or  of  the  whole  body  together. 
It  must  be  likewise  shown  that  these  parts 
stand  in  such  a  relation  to  each  other,  that  the 
comparison  between  them  may  be  easily  made, 
and  that  the  affection  of  the  mind  may  natu- 
rally result  from  it.  For  my  part,  I  have  at 
several  times  very  carefully  examined  many 
of  those  proportions,  and  found  them  hold 
very  nearly,  or  altogether  alike,  in  many  sub- 
jects, which  were  not  only  very  different 
from  one  another,  but  where  one  has  been 
very  beautiful,  and  the  other  veiy  remote 
from  beauty.  "With  regard  to  the  parts  which 
are  found  so  proportioned,  they  are  often  so 
remote  from  each  other  in  situation,  nature, 
and  office,  that  I  cannot  see  how  they  admit 
of  any  comparison,  nor  consequently  how 
any  effect  owing  to  proportion  can  result 
from  them.  The  neck,  say  they,  in  beautiful 
bodies,  should  measure  with  the  calf  of  the 
leg  ;  it  should  likewise  be  twice  the  circum- 
ference of  the  wrist.  And  an  infinity  of  ob- 
servations of  this  kind  are  to  be  found  in  the 
writings   and  conversations   of  many.     But 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  141 

what  relation  has  the  calf  of  the  leg  to  the 
neck ;  or  either  of  these  parts  to  the  wrist  ? 
These  proportions  are  certainly  to  be  found  in 
handsome  bodies.  They  are  as  certainly  in 
ugly  ones ;  as  any  who  will  take  the  pains  to 
try  may  find.  Nay,  I  do  not  know  but  they 
may  be  the  least  perfect  in  some  of  the  most 
beautiful.  You  may  assign  any  proportions 
you  please  to  every  part  of  the  human  body ; 
and  I  undertake  that  a  painter  shall  religious- 
ly observe  them  all,  and  notwithstanding 
produce,  if  he  pleases,  a  very  ugly  figure. 
The  same  painter  shall  considerably  deviate 
from  these  proportions,  and  produce  a  very 
beautiful  one.  And  indeed  it  may  be  obser- 
ved in  the  master-pieces  of  the  ancient  and 
modern  statuary,  that  several  of  them  differ 
very  widely  from  the  proportions  of  others, 
in  parts  very  conspicuous,  and  of  great  con- 
sideration ;  and  that  they  differ  no  less  from 
the  proportions  we  find  in  living  men,  of 
forms  extremely  striking  and  agreeable.  And 
after  all,  how  are  the  partizans  of  proportional 
beauty  agreed  amongst  themselves  about  the 
proportions  of  the  human  body  ?  some  hold 
it  to  be  seven  heads  ;  some  make  it  eight ; 
whilst  others  extend  it  even  to  ten ;  a  vast  dif- 


142  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

ference  in  such  a  small  number  of  divisions  f 
Others  take  other  methods  of  estimating  the 
proportions,  and  all  with  equal  success.  But 
are  these  proportions  exactly  the  same  in  all 
handsome  men  ?  or  are  they  at  all  the  propor- 
tions found  in  beautiful  women  ?  no  body  will 
say  that  they  are  ;  yet  both  sexes  are  un- 
doubtedly capable  of  beauty,  and  the  female  of 
the  greatest  ;  which  advantage  I  believe  will 
hardly  be  attributed  to  the  superior  exactness 
of  proportion  in  the  fair  sex.  Let  us  rest  a 
moment  on  this  point;  and  consider  how 
much  difference  there  is  between  the  mea- 
sures that  prevail  in  many  similar  parts  of 
the  body,  in  the  two  sexes  of  this  single 
species  only.  If  you  assign  any  determinate 
proportions  to  the  limbs  of  a  man,  and  if 
you  limit  human  beauty  to  these  proportions, 
when  you  find  a  woman  who  differs  in  the 
make  and  measures  of  almost  every  part, 
you  must  conclude  her  not  to  be  beautiful,  in 
spite  of  the  suggestions  of  your  imagination : 
or,  in  obedience  to  your  imagination,  you 
must  renounce  your  rules  ;  you  must  lay  by 
the  scale  and  compass,  and  look  out  for  some 
other  cause  of  beauty;  for,  if  beauty  be 
attached  to  certain  measures,  which  operate 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  143 

From  a  principle  in  nature,  why  should  similar 
parts,  with  different  measures  of  propor- 
tion, be  found  to  have  beauty,  and  this  too 
in  the  very  same  species  I  But,  to  open  our 
view  a  little,  it  is  worth  observing,  that  al- 
most all  animals  have  parts  of  very  much 
the  same  nature,  and  destined  nearly  to  the 
same  purposes  ;  an  head,  neck,  body,  feet, 
eyes,  ears,  nose,  and  mouth;  yet  Providence, 
to  provide  in  the  best  manner  for  their  seve- 
ral wants,  and  to  display  the  riches  of  his 
wisdom  and  goodness  in  his  creation,  has 
worked  out  of  these  few  and  similar  organs 
and  members  a  diversity  hardly  short  of  infi- 
nite in  their  disposition,  measures,  and  rela- 
tion. But,  as  we  have  before  observed, 
amidst  this  infinite  diversity,  one  particular 
is  common  to  many  species  ;  several  of  the 
individuals  which  compose  them  are  capable 
of  affecting  us  with  a  sense  of  loveliness  ;  and 
whilst  they  agree  in  producing  this  effect, 
they  differ  extremely  in  the  relative  measures 
of  those  parts  which  have  produced  it.  These 
considerations  were  sufficient  to  induce  me  to 
reject  the  notion  of  any  particular  propor- 
tions that  operated  by  nature  to  produce  a 
pleasing   effect ;    but    those   who   will   agree 


£^&*J 


' 


144  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

with  me,  with  regard  to  a  particular  proper- 
tion,  are  strongly  prepossessed  in  favour  of 
one  more  indefinite.     They  imagine,  that  al- 
though beauty  in   general  is  annexed  to  no 
certain  measures  common  to  the  several  kinds 
of  pleasing  plants  and  animals,  yet  that  there 
is  a  certain  proportion  in  each  species  abso- 
lutely essential  to  the  beauty  of  that  particular 
kind.     If  we  consider  the   animal  world  in 
general,  we  find  beauty  confined  to  no  cer- 
tain, measures;  but,  as  some  peculiar  measure 
and  relation  of  parts  is  what  distinguishes  each 
peculiar  class  of  animals,  it  must  of  necessity 
be  that  the  beautiful  in  each  kind  will  be 
found  in  the  measures  and  proportions  of  that 
kind ;  for  otherwise  it  would  deviate  from  its 
proper   species,   and   become   in   some   sort 
monstrous  :  however,  no  species  is  so  strictly 
confined  to  any  certain  proportions  that  there 
is  not  a  considerable  variation  amongst  the  in- 
dividuals ;   and  as  it  has  been  shown  of  the 
human,  so  it   may  be   shown  of  the  brute 
kinds,   that  beauty  is  found  indifferently  in 
all  the  proportions  which  each  kind  can  ad- 
mit, without  quitting  its  common  form  ,•   and 
it  is  this  idea  of  common  form  that  makes 
the  proportion  of  parts  at  all  regarded,  and 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  145 

not  the  operation  of  any  natural  cause :  in- 
deed a  little  consideration  will  make  it  appear 
that  it  is  not  measure  but  manner  that  creates 
all  the  beauty  which  belongs  to  shape.  What 
light  do  we  borrow  from  these  boasted  pro- 
portions when  we  study  ornamental  design  ? 
It  seems  amazing  to  me  that  artists,  if  they 
were  as  well  convinced  as  they  pretend  to  be, 
that  proportion  is  a  principle  cause  of  beauty, 
have  not  by  them  at  all  times  accurate  mea- 
surements of  all  sorts  of  beautiful  animals,  to 
help  them  to  proper  proportions  when  they 
would  contrive  any  thing  elegant,  especially 
as  they  frequently  assert  that  it  is  from  an  ob- 
servation of  the  beautiful  in  nature  they  direct 
their  practice.  I  know  that  it  has  been  said 
long  since,  and  echoed  backward  and  forward 
from  one  writer  to  another  a  thousand  times, 
that  the  proportions  of  building  have  been 
taken  from  those  of  the  human  body.  To 
make  this  forced  analogy  complete,  they 
represent  a  man  with  his  arms  raised  and  ex- 
tended at  full  length,  and  then  describe  a  sort 
•of  square,  as  it  is  formed  by  passing  lines 
along  the  extremities  of  this  strange  figure. 
But  it  appears  very  clearly  to  me,  that  the 
human  figure  never  supplied  the   architect 

n2 


146  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

with  any  of  his  ideas  ;  for,  in  the  first  place, 
men  are  very  rarely  seen  in  this  strained  pos- 
ture ;  it  is  not  natural  to  them,  neither  is  it  at 
all  becoming.  Secondly,  the  view  of  the  hu- 
man figure  so  disposed  does  not  naturally  sug- 
gest the  idea  of  a  square,  but  rather  of  a 
cross  ;  as  that  large  space  between  the  arms 
and  the  ground  must  be  filled  with  something 
before  it  can  make  any  body  think  of  a  square. 
Thirdly,  several  buildings  are  by  no  means  of 
the  form  of  that  particular  square,  which  are, 
notwithstanding,  planned  by  the  best  architects, 
and  produce  an  effect  altogether  as  good,  and 
perhaps  a  better.  And  certainly  nothing 
could  be  more  unaccountably  whimsical,  than 
for  an  architect  to  model  his  performance 
by  ths  human  figure,  since  no  two  things 
can  have  less  resemblance  or  analogy  than  a. 
man  and  an  house  or  temple :  do  we  need 
to  observe  that  their  purposes  are  entirely 
different  ?  What  I  am  apt  to  suspect  is  this, 
that  these  analogies  were  devised  to  give 
a  credit  to  the  works  of  art,  by  shewing  a 
conformity  between  them  and  the  noblest 
works  in  nature  ;  not  that  the  latter  served  at 
all  to  supply  hints  for  the  perfection  of  the 
former.     And  I  am  the  more  fully  convinced 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  147 

that  the  patrons  of  proportion  have  transfer- 
red their  artificial  ideas  to  nature,  and  not 
borrowed  from  thence  the  proportions  they 
use  in  works  of  art ;  because,  in  any  discus- 
sion of  this  subject,  they  always  quit,  as  soon 
as  possible,  the  open  field  of  natural  beauties, 
the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms,  and  forti- 
fy themselves  within  the  artificial  lines  and 
angles  of  architecture ;  for  there  is  in  man- 
kind an  unfortunate  propensity  to  make  them- 
selves, their  views,  and  their  works,  the  mea- 
sure of  excellence  in  every  thing  whatsoever. 
Therefore,  having  observed  that  their  dwel- 
lings were  most  commodious  and  firm  when 
they  were  thrown  into  regular  figures,  with 
parts  answerable  to  each  other,  they  transfer- 
red these  ideas  to  their  gardens ;  they  turned 
their  trees  into  pillars,  pyramids,  and  obelisks ; 
they  formed  their  hedges  into  so  many  green 
walls,  and  fashioned  the  walks  into  squares, 
triangles,  and  other  mathematical  figures,  with 
exactness  and  symmetry  ;  and  they  thought, 
if  they  were  not  imitating,  they  were  at  least 
improving  nature,  and  teaching  her  to  know 
her  business.  But  nature  has  at  last  escaped 
from  their  discipline  and  their  letters ;  and 
our  gardens,  if  nothing  else,  declare  we  begin 


148  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

to  feel  that  mathematical  ideas  are  not  the  true 
measures  of  beauty.  And  surely  they  are 
full  as  little  so  in  the  animal  as  the  vegetable 
world:  for,  is  it  not  extraordinary,  that,  in 
these  fine  descriptive  pieces,  these  innumera- 
ble odes  and  elegies,  which  are  in  the  mouths 
of  all  the  world,  and  many  of  which  have 
been  the  entertainment  of  ages — that  in  these 
pieces  which  describe  love  with  such  a  pas- 
sionate energy,  and  represent  its  objects  in 
such  an  infinite  variety  of  lights,  not  one 
word  is  said  of  proportion,  if  it  be,  what  some 
insist  it  is,  the  principal  component  of  beau- 
ty ;  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  several  other 
qualities  are  very  frequently  and  warmly 
mentioned?  But,  if  proportion  has  not  this 
power,  it  may  appear  odd  how  men  came  ori- 
ginally to  be  so  prepossessed  in  its  favour.  It 
arose,  I  imagine,  from  the  fondness  I  have 
just  mentioned,  which  men  bear  so  remark- 
ably to  their  own  works  and  notions  ;  it  arose 
from  false  reasonings  on  the  effects  of  the  cus- 
tomary figure  of  animals  ;  it  arose  from  the 
Platonic  theory  of  fitness  and  aptitude :  for 
which  reason,  in  the  next  section,  I  shall  con- 
sider the  effects  of  custom  in  the  figure  of  ani- 
mals j   and,  afterwards,  the  idea  of  fitness  j 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  149 

since,  if  proportion  does  not  operate  by  a  na- 
tural power  attending  some  measures,  it  must 
be  either  by  custom  or  the  idea  of  utility ; 
there  is  no  other  way. 

SECT.  V. 

PROPORTION    FURTHER    CONSIDERED. 

IF  I  am  not  mistaken,  a  great  deal  of  the 
prejudice  in  favour  of  proportion  has  arisen, 
not  so  much  from  the  observation  of  any  cer- 
tain measures  found  in  beautiful  bodies,  as 
from  a  wrong  idea  of  the  relation  which  defor- 
mity bears  to  beauty,  to  which  it  has  been 
considered  as  the  opposite  :  on  this  principle 
it  was  concluded,  that,  where  the  causes  of 
deformity  were  removed,  beauty  must  natu- 
rally and  necessarily  be  introduced.  This,  I  be- 
lieve, is  a  mistake  ;  for  deformity  is  opposed 
not  to  beauty,  but  to  the  complete  common 
form.  If  one  of  the  legs  of  a  man  be  found 
shorter  than  the  other,  the  man  is  deformed  j 
because  there  is  something  wanting  to  com- 
plete the  whole  idea  we  form  of  a  man  :  and 
this  has  the  same  effect,  in  natural  faults,  as 
maiming  and  mutilation  produced  from  acci- 


150  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

dents.  So,  if  the  back  be  humped,  the  man 
is  deformed ;  because  his  back  has  an  unusual 
figure,  and  what  carries  with  it  the  idea  of 
some  disease  or  misfortune  :  so,  if  a  man's 
neck  be  considerably  longer  or  shorter  than 
usual,  we  say  he  is  deformed  in  that  part,  be- 
cause men  are  not  commonly  made  in  that 
manner.  But  surely  every  hour's  experience 
may  convince  us,  that  a  man  may  have  his 
legs  of  an  equal  length,  and  resembling  each 
other  in  all  respects;  and  his  neck  of  a  just 
size,  and  his  back  quite  straight,  without  hav- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  the  least  perceivable 
beauty.  Indeed,  beauty  is  so  far  from  be- 
longing to  the  idea  of  custom,  that,  in  reality, 
what  affects  us  in  that  manner  is  extremely 
rare  and  uncommon.  The  beautiful  strikes 
us  as  much  by  its  novelty  as  the  deformed  it- 
self. It  is  thus  in  those  species  of  animals 
with  which  we  are  acquainted ;  and,  if  one  of 
a  new  species  were  represented,  we  should  by 
no  means  wait  until  custom  had  settled  an  idea 
of  proportion  before  we  decided  concerning 
its  beauty  or  ugliness  ;  which  shews  that  the 
general  idea  of  beauty  can  be  no  more  owing 
to  customary  than  to  natural  proportion.  De- 
formity arises  from  the  want  of  the  common 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  151 

proportions  ;  but  the  necessary  result  of  their 
existence  in  any  object  is  not  beauty.      If  we 
suppose  proportion  in  natural  things  to  be  re- 
lative to  custom  and  use,  the  nature  of  use 
and  custom  will  shew  that  beauty,  which  is  a 
positive  and  powerful  quality,    cannot  result 
from   it.     We    are    so   wonderfully   formed, 
that,  whilst  we  are  creatures  vehemently  de- 
sirous of  novelty,  we  are  as  strongly  attached 
to  habit  and  custom.     But  it  is  the  nature  of 
things  which  hold  us  by  custom,   to  affect  us 
very  little  whilst  we  are  in  possession  of  them, 
but  strongly  when   they  are  absent.     I   re- 
member to  have  frequented  a  certain  place 
every  day,  for  a  long  time  together ;   and  I 
may  truly  say,  that,  so  far  from  finding  plea- 
sure in  it,  I  was  affected  with  a  sort  of  wea- 
riness and  disgust;  I  came,  I  went,  I  return- 
ed, without  pleasure  ;  yet,  if  by  any  means  I 
passed  by  the  usual  time  of  my  going  thither, 
I  was  remarkably  uneasy,  and  was  not  quiet 
till  I  had  got  into  my  old  track.     They  who 
use  snuff  take  it  almost  without  being  sensible 
that  they  take  it ;  and  the  acute  sense  of  smell 
is  deadened  so  as  to  feel  hardly  any  thing 
from  so  sharp  a  stimulus ;   yet,  deprive  the 
snuff-taker  of  his  box,  and  he  is  the  most  un- 


152  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

easy  mortal  in  the  world.  Indeed,  so  far  are 
use  and  habit  from  being  causes  of  pleasure, 
merely  as  such,  that  the  effect  of  constant  use 
is  to  make  all  things,  of  whatever  kind,  en- 
tirely unaffecting :  for,  as  use  at  last  takes  off 
the  painful  effect  of  many  things,  it  reduces 
the  pleasurable  effect  of  others  in  the  same 
manner,  and  brings  both  to  a  sort  of  medio- 
crity and  indifference.  Veiy  justly  is  use 
called  a  second  nature  ;  and  our  natural  and 
common  state  is  one  of  absolute  indifference, 
equally  prepared  for  pain  or  pleasure.  But 
when  we  are  thrown  out  of  this  state,  or  de- 
prived of  any  thing  requisite  to  maintain  us 
in  it ;  when  this  change  does  not  happen  by 
pleasure  from  some  mechanical  cause,  we  are 
always  hurt.  It  is  so  with  the  second  nature, 
custom,  in  all  things  which  relate  to  it.  Thus, 
the  want  of  the  usual  proportions  in  men  and 
other  animals  is  sure  to  disgust,  though  their 
presence  is  by  no  means  any  cause  of  real 
pleasure.  It  is  true  that  the  proportions  laid 
down  as  causes  of  beauty  in  the  human  body 
are  frequently  found  in  beautiful  ones,  be- 
cause they  are  generally  found  in  all  man- 
kind ;  but  if  it  can  be  shown,  too,  that  they 
are  found  without  beauty,   and  that  beauty 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  153 

frequently  exists  without  them,  and  that  this 
beauty,  where  it  exists,  always  can  be  as- 
signed to  other  less  equivocal  causes,  it  will 
naturally  lead  us  to  conclude  that  proportion 
and  beauty  are  not  ideas  of  the  same  nature. 
The  true  opposite  to  beauty  is  not  dispropor- 
tion or  deformity,  but  ugliness  ;  and,  as  it  pro- 
ceeds from  causes  opposite  to  those  of  posi- 
tive beauty,  we  cannot  consider  it  until  we 
come  to  treat  of  that.  Between  beauty  and 
ugliness  there  is  a  sort  of  mediocrity,  in  which 
the  assigned  proportions  are  most  commonly 
found ;  but  this  has  no  effect  upon  the  pas- 
sions. 

SECT.  VI. 

FITNESS    NOT    THE    CAUSE    OF    BEAUTY. 

IT  is  said  that  the  idea  of  utility,  or  of  a 
part's  being  well  adapted  to  answer  its  end,  is 
the  cause  of  beauty,  or  indeed  beauty  itself.  If 
it  were  not  for  this  opinion,  it  had  been  im- 
possible for  the  doctrine  of  proportion  to  have 
held  its  ground  very  long  ;  the  world  would 
be  soon  weary  of  hearing  of  measures  which 
related  to  nothing  either  of  a  natural  princi- 
ple, or  of  a  fitness  to  answer  some  end :    the 

o 


154  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

idea  which  mankind  most  commonly  conceive 
of  proportion,  is  the  suitableness  of  means  to 
certain  ends,  and  where  this  is  not  the  ques- 
tion, very  seldom  trouble  themselves  about 
the  effect  of  different  measures  of  things : 
therefore  it  was  necessary  for  this  theory  to 
insist,  that  not  only  artificial,  but  natural  ob- 
jects took  their  beauty  from  the  fitness  of  the 
parts  for  their  several  purposes.  But,  in 
framing  this  theory,  I  am  apprehensive  that 
experience  was  not  sufficiently  consulted; 
for,  on  that  principle,  the  wedge-like  snout 
of  a  swine,  with  its  tough  cartilage  at  the  end, 
the  little  sunk  eyes,  and  the  whole  make  of 
the  head,  so  well  adapted  to  its  offices  of  dig- 
ging and  routing,  would  be  extremely  beauti- 
ful. The  great  bag  hanging  to  the  bill  of  a 
pelican,  a  thing  highly  useful  to  this  animal, 
would  be  likewise  as  beautiful  in  our  eyes. 
The  hedgehog,  so  well  secured  against  all 
assaults  by  his  prickly  hide,  and  the  porcu- 
pine with  his  missile  quills,  would  be  then 
considered  as  creatures  of  no  small  elegance. 
There  are  few  animals  whose  parts  are  better 
contrived  than  those  of  a  monkey  :  he  has  the 
hands  of  a  man,  joined  to  the  springy  limbs 
of  a  beast:   he  is  admirably  calculated  for 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  155 

running,   leaping,    grappling,  and    climbing ; 
and  yet  there  are  few  animals  which  seem  to 
have  less  beauty  in  the  eyes  of  all  mankind. 
I  need  say  little  on  the  trunk  of  the  elephant, 
of  such  various  usefulness,  and  which  is  so 
far  from  contributing   to  his   beauty.      How 
well  fitted  is  the  wolf  for  running  and  leap- 
ing !     how  admirably  is  the  lion   armed  for 
battle !   but  will  any  one,  therefore,  call  the 
elephant,    the   wolf,    and   the    lion,    beautiful 
animals  ?    I   believe    nobody   will   think    the 
form  of  a  man's  legs  so  well  adapted  to  run- 
ning as  those  of  an  horse,  a  dog,  a  deer,  and 
several  other   creatures ;   at  least  they  have 
not  that  appearance  :    yet,  I  believe,  a  well 
fashioned  human  leg  will  be  allowed  far  to 
exceed  all  these  in  beauty.     If  the  fitness  of 
parts  was  what  constituted  the  loveliness  of 
their  form,  the  actual  employment  of  them 
would    undoubtedly  much    augment   it ;    but 
this,  though  it  is  sometimes  so  upon  another 
principle,  is  far  from  being  always  the  case. 
A   bird  on  the   wing  is  not  so  beautiful  as 
when  it  is  perched  ;   nay,  there  are  several  of 
the  domestic  fowls  which  are  seldom  seen  to 
fly,  and  which  are  nothing  the  less  beautiful 
on  that  account  j   yet  birds  are  so  extremely 


156  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

different  in  their  form  from  the  beast  and  hu- 
man kinds,  that  you  cannot,  on  the  principle 
of  fitness,  allow  them  any  thing  agreeable, 
but  in  consideration  of  their  parts  being  de- 
signed for  quite  other  purposes.  I  never  in 
my  life  chanced  to  see  a  peacock  fly;  and 
yet  before,  very  long  before  I  considered  any 
aptitude  in  his  form  for  the  aerial  life,  I  was 
struck  with  the  extreme  beauty  which  raises 
that  bird  above  many  of  the  best-flying  fowls 
in  the  world,  though,  for  any  thing  I  saw,  his 
way  of  living  was  much  like  that  of  the  swine 
which  fed  in  the  farm-yard  along  with  him. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  cocks,  hens,  and 
the  like  ;  they  are  of  the  flying  kind  in  figure  ; 
in  their  manner  of  moving  not  very  different 
from  men  and  beasts.  To  leave  these  foreign 
examples  :  if  beauty  in  our  own  species  was 
annexed  to  use,  men  would  be  much  more 
lovely  than  women  ;  and  strength  and  agility 
would  be  considered  as  the  only  beauties. 
But  to  call  strength  by  the  name  of  beauty, 
to  have  but  one  denomination  for  the  qualities 
of  a  Venus  and  Hercules,  so  totally  diffe- 
rent in  almost  all  respects,  is  surely  a  strange 
confusion  of  ideas,  or  abuse  of  words. 
The  cause  of  this  confusion,  I  imagine,  pro- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  157 

ceeds  from  our  frequently  perceiving  the 
parts  of  the  human  and  other  animal  bodies 
to  be  at  once  very  beautiful,  and  very  well 
adapted  to  their  purposes;  and  we  are  de- 
ceived by  a  sophism,  which  makes  us  take 
that  for  a  cause  which  is  only  a  concomitant : 
this  is  the  sophism  of  the  fly,  who  imagined 
he  raised  a  great  dust,  because  he  stood  upon 
the  chariot  that  really  raised  it.  The  sto- 
mach, the  lungs,  the  liver,  as  well  as  other 
parts,  are  incomparably  well  adapted  to  their 
purposes;  yet  they  are  far  from  having  any 
beauty.  Again :  many  things  are  very  beau- 
tiful, in  which  it  is  impossible  to  discern  any 
idea  of  use.  And  I  appeal  to  the  first  and 
most  natural  feelings  of  mankind,  whether,  on 
beholding  a  beautiful  eye,  or  a  well-fashioned 
mouth,  or  a  well-turned  leg,  any  ideas  of  their 
being  well  fitted  for  seeing,  eating,  or  run- 
ning, ever  present  themselves  ?  What  idea 
of  use  is  it  that  flowers  excite ;  the  most  beau- 
tiful part  of  the  vegetable  world  ?  It  is  true 
that  the  infinitely  wise  and  good  Creator  has 
of  his  bounty,  frequently  joined  beauty  to 
those  things  which  he  has  made  useful  to  us  : 
but  this  does  not  prove  that  an  idea  of  use  and 

o  2 


h£> 


158  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

beauty  are  the  same  thing,   or  that  they  are 
any  way  dependent  on  each  other. 


SECT.  VII. 

THE    REAL    EFFECTS    OF    FITNESS. 

W HEN  I  excluded  proportion  and  fitness 
from  any  share  in  beauty,  I  did  not,  by  any 
means,  intend  to  say  that  they  were  of  no 
value,  or  that  they  ought  to  be  disregarded  in 
works  of  art.  Works  of  art  are  the  proper 
sphere  of  their  power;  and  here  it  is  that 
they  have  their  full  effect.  Whenever  the 
wisdom  of  our  Creator  intended  that  we 
should  be  affected  with  any  thing,  he  did  not 
confine  the  execution  of  his  design  to  the 
languid  and  precarious  operation  of  our  rea- 
son ;  but  he  endued  it  with  powers  and  pro- 
perties that  prevent  the  understanding,  and 
even  the  will,  which,  seizing  upon  the  senses 
and  imagination,  captivate  the  soul  before  the 
understanding  is  ready  either  to  join  with 
them  or  to  oppose  them.  It  is  by  a  long  de- 
duction and  much  study  that  we  discover  the 
adorable  wisdom  of  God  in  his  works :  when 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  159 

we  discover  it,  the  effect  is  very  different,  not 
only  in  the  manner  of  acquiring  it,  but  in  its 
own  nature,  from  that  which  strikes  us  with- 
out any  preparation  from  the  sublime  or  the 
beautiful.  How  different  is  the  satisfaction 
of  the  anatomist,  who  discovers  the  use  of 
the  muscles  and  of  the  skin,  the  excellent  con- 
trivance of  the  one  for  the  various  movements 
of  the  body,  and  the  wonderful  texture  of  the 
other,  at  once  a  general  covering,  and  at  once 
a  general  outlet  as  well  as  inlet ;  how  differ- 
ent is  this  from  the  affection  which  possesses 
an  ordinary  man  at  the  sight  of  a  delicate 
smooth  skin,  and  all  the  other  parts  of  beauty, 
which  require  no  investigation  to  be  perceiv- 
ed !  in  the  former  case,  whilst  we  look  up 
to  the  Maker  with  admiration  and  praise,  the 
object  which  causes  it  may  be  odious  and  dis- 
tasteful ;  the  latter  very  often  so  touches  us 
by  its  power  on  the  imagination,  that  we  exa- 
mine but  little  into  the  artifice  of  its  contriv- 
ance ;  and  we  have  need  of  a  strong  effort  of 
our  reason  to  disentangle  our  minds  from  the 
allurements  of  the  object  to  a  consideration  of 
that  wisdom  which  invented  so  powerful  a 
machine.  The  effect  of  proportion  and  fit- 
ness, at  least  so  far  as  they  proceed  from  a 


160  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

mere  consideration  of  the  work  itself,  produce 
approbation,  the  acquiescence  of  the  under- 
standing, but  not  love,  nor  any  passion  of 
that  species.  When  we  examine  the  struc- 
ture of  a  watch,  when  we  come  to  know  tho- 
roughly the  use  of  every  part  of  it,  satisfied 
as  we  are  with  the  fitness  of  the  whole,  we 
are  far  enough  from  perceiving  any  thing  like 
beauty  in  the  watch- work  itself;  but  let  us 
look  on  the  case,  the  labour  of  some  curious 
artist  in  engraving,  with  little  or  no  idea  of 
use,  we  shall  have  a  much  livelier  idea  of 
beauty  than  we  ever  could  have  had  from 
the  watch  itself,  though  the  master-piece  of 
Graham.  In  beauty,  as  I  said,  the  effect  is 
previous  to  any  knowledge  of  the  use  ;  but, 
to  judge  of  proportion,  we  must  know  the 
end  for  which  any  work  is  designed.  Ac- 
cording to  the  end,  the  proportion  varies. 
Thus,  there  is  one  proportion  of  a  tower,  an- 
other of  an  house  ;  one  proportion  of  a  gal- 
lery, another  of  an  hall,  another  of  a  cham- 
ber. To  judge  of  the  proportions  of  these, 
you  must  be  first  acquainted  with  the  pur- 
poses for  which  they  were  designed.  Good 
sense  and  experience,  acting  together,  find  out 
what  is  fit  to  be  done  in  every  work  of  art. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  161 

We  are  rational  creatures,  and  in  all  our 
works  we  ought  to  regard  their  end  and  pur- 
pose ;  the  gratification  of  any  passion,  how 
innocent  soever,  ought  only  to  be  of  second- 
ary consideration.  Herein  is  placed  the  real 
power  of  fitness  and  proportion  ;  they  operate 
on  the  understanding  considering  them,  which 
approves  the  work,  and  acquiesces  in  it.  The 
passions,  and  the  imagination,  which  princi- 
pally raises  them,  have  here  very  little  to  do. 
When  a  room  appears  in  its  original  naked- 
ness, bare  walls  and  a  plain  ceiling,  let  its 
proportion  be  ever  so  excellent,  it  pleases 
very  little ;  a  cold  approbation  is  the  utmost 
we  can  reach :  a  much  worse-proportioned 
room,  with  elegant  mouldings  and  fine  fes- 
toons, glasses,  and  other  merely  ornamental 
furniture,  will  make  the  imagination  revolt 
against  the  reason  ;  it  will  please  much  more 
than  the  naked  proportion  of  the  first  room, 
which  the  understanding  has  so  much  ap- 
proved as  admirably  fitted  for  its  purposes. 
What  I  have  here  said,  and  before,  concern- 
ing proportion,  is  by  no  means  to  persuade 
people  absurdly  to  neglect  the  idea  of  use  in 
the  works  of  art.  It  is  only  to  shew,  that 
these  excellent  things,  beauty  and  proportion, 


162  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

are  not  the  same ;  not  that  they  should  either 
of  them  be  disregarded. 


SECT.  VIII. 

THE    RECAPITULATION. 

ON  the  whole  :  if  such  parts  in  human  bo- 
dies as  are  found  proportioned,  were  likewise 
constantly  found  beautiful,  as  they  certainly 
are  not ;  or  if  they  were  so  situated  as  that  a 
pleasure  might  flow  from  the  comparison, 
which  they  seldom  are  ;  or  if  any  assignable 
proportions  were  found,  either  in  plants  or 
animals,  which  were  always  attended  with 
beauty,  which  never  was  the  case ;  or  if, 
where  parts  were  well  adapted  to  their  pur- 
poses, they  were  constantly  beautiful,  and, 
when  no  use  appeared,  there  was  no  beauty, 
which  is  contrary  to  all  experience,  we  might 
conclude  that  beauty  consisted  in  proportion 
or  utility.  But  since,  in  all  respects,  the  case 
is  quite  otherwise,  we  may  be  satisfied  that 
beauty  does  not  depend  on  these,  let  it  owe 
its  origin  to  what  else  it  will. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  163 

SECT.  IX. 

PERFECTION  NOT  THE  CAUSE  OF  BEAUTY. 

1  HERE  is  another  notion  current,  pretty 
closely  allied  to  the  former,  that  Perfection 
is  the  constituent  cause  of  beauty.  This  opi- 
nion has  been  made  to  extend  much  farther 
than  to  sensible  objects.  But,  in  these,  so 
far  is  perfection  considered  as  such,  from  be- 
ing the  cause  of  beauty,  that  this  quality, 
where  it  is  highest,  in  the  female  sex,  almost 
always  carries  with  it  an  idea  of  weakness  and 
imperfection.  Women  are  very  sensible  of 
this  ;  for  which  reason  they  learn  to  lisp,  to 
totter  in  their  walk,  to  counterfeit  weakness, 
and  even  sickness.  In  all  this  they  are  guided 
by  nature.  Beauty  in  distress  is  much  the 
most  affecting  beauty.  Blushing  has  little 
less  power ;  and  modesty  in  general,  which 
is  a  tacit  allowance  of  imperfection,  is  itself 
considered  as  an  amiable  quality,  and  cer- 
tainly heightens  every  other  that  is  so.  I 
know  it  is  in  every  body's  mouth  that  we 
ought  to  love  perfection.  This  is  to  me  a 
sufficient  proof  that  it  is  not  the  proper  object 


164  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

of  love.  Who  ever  said  we  ought  to  love  a 
fine  woman,  or  even  any  of  those  beautiful 
animals  which  please  us  ?  Here  to  be  affected, 
there  is  no  need  of  the  concurrence  of  our 
will- 

SECT.  X. 

HOW  FAR  THE  IDEA  OF  BEAUTY  MAY  BE  AP- 
PLIED TO  THE  QUALITIES  OF  THE  MIND. 

-N  OR  is  this  remark,  in  general,  less  applica- 
ble to  the  qualities  of  the  mind.  Those  vir- 
tues which  cause  admiration,  and  are  of  the 
sublimer  kind,  produce  terror  rather  than 
love  ;  such  as  fortitude,  justice,  wisdom,  and 
the  like.  Never  was  any  man  amiable  by 
force  of  these  qualities.  Those  which  engage 
our  hearts,  which  impress  us  with  a  sense  of 
loveliness,  are  the  softer  virtues  ;  easiness  of 
temper,  compassion,  kindness,  and  liberality ; 
though  certainly  those  latter  are  of  less  imme- 
diate and  momentous  concern  to  society,  and 
of  less  dignity.  But  it  is  for  that  reason  that 
they  are  so  amiable.  The  great  virtues  turn 
principally  on  dangers,  punishments,  and 
troubles ;  and  are  exercised  rather  in  prevent- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  165 

ing  the  worst  mischiefs,  than  in  dispensing 
favours  ;  and  are  therefore  not  lovely,  though 
highly  venerable.  The  subordinate  turn  on 
reliefs,  gratifications,  and  indulgences ;  and 
are  therefore  more  lovely,  though  inferior  in 
dignity.  Those  persons  who  creep  into  the 
hearts  of  most  people,  who  are  chosen  as  the 
companions  of  their  softer  hours,  and  their 
reliefs  from  care  and  anxiety,  are  never  per- 
sons of  shining  qualities  nor  strong  virtues. 
It  is  rather  the  soft  green  of  the  soul  on 
which  we  rest  our  eyes,  that  are  fatigued 
with  beholding  more  glaring  objects.  It  is 
worth  observing  how  we  feel  ourselves  affect- 
ed  in  reading  the  characters  of  Csesar  and  Ca- 
to,  as  they  are  so  finely  drawn  and  contrasted 
in  Sallust.  In  one  the  ignoscendo,  largiundo  ; 
in  the  other,  nil  largiundo.  In  one  the  mise- 
ris  perfugium;  in  the  other  malis  perniciem. 
In  the  latter  we  have  much  to  admire,  much 
to  reverence,  and  perhaps  something  to  fear ; 
we  respect  him,  but  we  respect  him  at  a  dis- 
tance. The  former  makes  us  familiar  with 
him ;  we  love  him,  and  he  leads  us  whither 
he  pleases.  To  draw  things  closer  to  our 
first  and  most  natural  feelings,  I  will  add 
a  remark  made  upon  reading  this  section  by 

p 


166  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

an  ingenious  friend.  The  authority  of  a 
father,  so  useful  to  our  well-being,  and  so 
justly  venerable  upon  all  accounts,  hinders  us 
from  having  that  entire  love  for  him  that  we 
have  for  our  mothers,  where  the  paternal  au- 
thority is  almost  melted  down  into  the  mo- 
ther's fondness  and  indulgence.  But  we  ge- 
nerally have  a  great  love  for  our  grandfathers, 
in  whom  this  authority  is  removed  a  degree 
from  us,  and  where  the  weakness  of  age  mel- 
lows it  into  something  of  a  feminine  par- 
tiality. 

SECT.  XL 

HOW    FAR    THE    IDEA    OF    BEAUTY    MAY    BE 
APPLIED    TO    VIRTUE. 

FROM  what  has  been  said  in  the  foregoing 
section,  we  may  easily  see  how  far  the  appli- 
cation of  beauty  to  virtue  may  be  made  with 
propriety.  The  general  application  of  this 
quality  to  virtue  has  a  strong  tendency  to 
confound  our  ideas  of  things;  and  it  has 
given  rise  to  an  infinite  deal  of  whimsical 
theory;  as  the  affixing  the  name  of  beauty  to 
proportion,  congruity,  and  perfection,  as  well 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  167 

as  to  qualities  of  things  yet  more  remote  from 
our  natural  ideas  of  it,  and  from  one  another, 
has  tended  to  confound  our  ideas  of  beauty, 
and  left  us  no  standard  or  rule  to  judge  by, 
that  was  not  even  more  uncertain  and  fallaci- 
ous than  our  own  fancies.  This  loose  and 
inaccurate  manner  of  speaking  has  therefore 
misled  us  both  in  the  theory  of  taste  and  of 
morals ;  and  induced  us  to  remove  the  science 
of  our  duties  from  their  proper  bases  (our 
reason,  our  relations,  and  our  necessities)  to 
rest  it  upon  foundations  altogether  visionary 
and  unsubstantial. 


SECT.  XII. 

THE  REAL  CAUSE  OF  BEAUTY. 

rl  AVING  endeavoured  to  shew  what  beau- 
ty is  not,  it  remains  that  we  should  examine, 
at  least  with  equal  attention,  in  what  it  really 
consists.  Beauty  is  a  thing  much  too  affect- 
ing not  to  depend  upon  some  positive  quali- 
ties. And,  since  it  is  no  creature  of  our  rea- 
son, since  it  strikes  us  without  any  reference 
to  use,  and  even  where  no  use  at  all  can  be 
discerned,  since  the  order  and  method  of  na- 


168  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

ture  is  generally  very  different  from  our  mea- 
sures and  proportions,  we  must  conclude  that 
beauty  is,  for  the  greater  part,  some  quality 
in  bodies  acting  mechanically  upon  the  hu- 
man mind  by  the  intervention  of  the  senses. 
We  ought  therefore  to  consider  attentively 
in  what  manner  those  sensible  qualities  are 
disposed,  in  such  things  as,  by  experience, 
we  find  beautiful,  or  which  excite  in  us  the 
passion  of  love,  or  some  correspondent  affec- 
tion. 


SECT.  XIII. 

BEAUTIFUL    OBJECTS    SMALL. 

X HE  most  obvious  point  that  presents  itself 
to  us  in  examining  any  object,  is  its  extent  or 
quantity.  And  what  degree  of  extent  pre- 
vails in  bodies  that  are  held  beautiful  may  be 
gathered  from  the  usual  manner  of  expression 
concerning  it.  I  am  told  that,  in  most  lan- 
guages, the  objects  of  love  are  spoken  of  un- 
der diminutive  epithets.  It  is  so  in  all  the 
languages  of  which  I  have  any  knowledge. 
In  Greek,  the  m  and  other  diminutive  terms 
are  almost  always  the  terms  of  affection  and 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  169 

tenderness.  These  diminutives  were  com- 
monly added  by  the  Greeks  to  the  names  of 
persons  with  whom  they  conversed  on  the 
terms  of  friendship  and  familiarity.  Though 
the  Romans  were  a  people  of  less  quick  and 
delicate  feelings,  yet  they  naturally  slid  into 
the  lessening  termination  upon  the  same  occa- 
sions. Anciently,  in  the  English  language, 
the  diminishing  ling  was  added  to  the  names 
of  persons  and  things  that  were  the  objects  of 
love.  Some  we  retain  still,  as  darling  (or 
little  dear)  and  a  few  others.  But  to  this 
day,  in  ordinary  conversation,  it  is  usual  to 
add  the  endearing  name  of  little  to  every  thing 
we  love :  the  French  and  Italians  make  use 
of  these  affectionate  diminutives,  even  more 
than  we.  In  the  animal  creation,  out  of  our 
own  species,  it  is  the  small  we  are  inclined 
to  be  fond  of;  little  birds,  and  some  of  the 
smaller  kinds  of  beasts.  A  great  beautiful 
thing  is  a  manner  of  expression  scarcely  ever 
used;  but  that  of  a  great  ugly  thing,  is  very 
common.  There  is  a  wide  difference  between 
admiration  and  love.  The  sublime,  which  is 
the  cause  of  the  former,  always  dwells  on 
great  objects,  and  terrible;  the  latter  on  small 
ones,  and  pleasing:  we  submit  to  what  we  ad- 

p  2 


170  ON   THE  SUBLIME 

mire,  but  we  love  what  submits  to  us ;  in  one 
case  we  are  forced,  in  the  other  we  are  flatter- 
ed, into  compliance.  In  short,  the  ideas  of 
the  sublime  and  the  beautiful  stand  on  foun- 
dations so  different,  that  it  is  hard,  I  had 
almost  said  impossible,  to  think  of  reconciling 
them  in  the  same  subject,  without  considera- 
bly lessening  the  effect  of  the  one  or  the 
other  upon  the  passions :  so  that,  attending  to 
their  quantity,  beautiful  objects  are  compara- 
tively small. 

SECT.  XIV. 

SMOOTHNESS. 

I  HE  next  property  constantly  observable  in 
such  objects  is  Smoothness:*  a  quality  so 
essential  to  beauty,  that  I  do  not  now  recollect 
any  thing  beautiful  that  is  not  smooth.  In 
trees  and  flowers,  smooth  leaves  are  beau- 
tiful; smooth  slopes  of  earth  in  gardens; 
smooth  streams  in  the  landscape;  smooth 
coats  of  birds  and  beasts  in  animal  beauties ; 
in  fine  women,  smooth  skins ;  and  in  several 
sorts  of  ornamental  furniture,  smooth  and  po- 

•  Part  IV,  sect  21. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  171 

lished  surfaces.  A  very  considerable  part  of 
the  effect  of  beauty  is  owing  to  this  quality ; 
indeed  the  most  considerable ;  for,  take  any 
beautiful  object,  and  give  it  a  broken  and 
rugged  surface,  and,  however  well-formed  it 
may  be  in  other  respects,  it  pleases  no  longer: 
whereas,  let  it  want  ever  so  many  of  the 
other  constituents,  if  it  wants  not  this,  it  be- 
comes more  pleasing  than  almost  all  the  others 
without  it.  This  seems  to  me  so  evident, 
that  I  am  a  good  deal  surprised  that  none  who 
have  handled  the  subject  have  made  any  men- 
tion of  the  quality  of  smoothness  in  the  enu- 
meration of  those  that  go  to  the  forming  of 
beauty ;  for,  indeed,  any  rugged,  any  sudden 
projection,  any  sharp  angle,  is  in  the  highest 
degree  contrary  to  that  idea.  .. 


SECT.  XV. 


GRADUAL    VARIATION. 

JdUT,  as  perfectly  beautiful  bodies  are  not 
composed  of  angular  parts,  so  their  parts  ne- 
ver continue  long  in  the  same  right  line.* 

*  Part  V,  sect,  23. 


172  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

They  vary  their  direction  every  moment,  and 
they  change  under  the  eye  by  a  deviation 
continually  carrying  on,  but  for  whose  begin- 
ning or  end  you  will  find  it  difficult  to  ascer- 
tain a  point.  The  view  of  a  beautiful  bird 
will  illustrate  this  observation.  Here  we  see 
the  head  increasing  insensibly  to  the  middle, 
from  whence  it  lessens  gradually,  until  it 
mixes  with  the  neck ;  the  neck  loses  itself  in 
a  larger  swell,  which  continues  to  the  middle 
of  the  body,  when  the  whole  decreases  again 
to  the  tail:  the  tail  takes  a  new  direction  ;  but 
it  soon  varies  its  new  course  :  it  blends  again 
with  the  other  parts ;  and  the  line  is  perpe- 
tually changing,  above,  below,  upon  every 
side.  In  this  description,  I  have  before  me 
the  idea  of  a  dove  ;  it  agrees  very  well  with 
most  of  the  conditions  of  beauty.  It  is 
smooth  and  downy ;  its  parts  are  (to  use  that 
expression)  melted  into  one  another:  you 
are  presented  with  no  sudden  protuberance 
through  the  whole,  and  yet  the  whole  is  con- 
tinually changing.  Observe  that  part  of  a 
beautiful  woman,  where  she  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  beautiful,  about  the  neck  and  breasts ; 
the  smoothness ;  the  softness ;  the  easy  and 
insensible  swell;   the  variety  of  the  surface, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  173 

which  is  never,  for  the  smallest  space,  the 
same ;  the  deceitful  maze,  through  which  the 
unsteady  eye  slides  gidily,  without  knowing 
where  to  fix,  or  whither  it  is  carried.  Is  not 
this  a  demonstration  of  that  change  of  surface, 
continual,  and  yet  hardly  perceptible  at  any 
point,  which  forms  one  of  the  great  consti- 
tuents of  beauty?  It  gives  me  no  small  plea- 
sure to  find  that  I  can  strengthen  my  theory 
in  this  point  by  the  opinion  of  the  very  inge- 
nious Mr.  Hogarth,  whose  idea  of  the  line  of 
beauty  I  take  in  general  to  be  extremely  just: 
but  the  idea  of  variation,  without  attending  so 
accurately  to  the  manner  of  the  variation,  has 
led  him  to  consider  angular  figures  as  beauti- 
ful :  these  figures,  it  is  true,  vary  greatly ; 
yet  they  vary  in  a  sudden  and  broken  man- 
ner; and  I  do  not  find  any  natural  object 
which  is  angular,  and  at  the  same  time  beau- 
tiful. Indeed,  few  natural  objects  are  intirely 
angular:  but  I  think  those  which  approach 
the  most  nearly  to  it  are  the  ugliest,  I  must 
add  too,  that,  so  far  as  I  could  observe  of  na- 
ture, though  the  varied  line,  is  that  alone  in 
which  complete  beauty  is  found,  yet  there  is 
no  particular  line  which  is  always  found  in 
the  most  completely  beautiful,  and  which  is 


174  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

therefore  beautiful  in  preference  to  all  other 
lines :  at  least  I  never  could  observe  it. 


SECT.  XVI. 

DELICACY. 

AN  air  of  robustness  and  strength  is  very 
prejudicial  to  beauty.  An  appearance  of  de- 
licacy, and  even  of  fragility,  is  almost  essen- 
tial to  it.  Whoever  examines  the  vegetable 
or  animal  creation,  will  -  n-j  this  observation 
to  be  founded  in  nature.  It  is  not  the  oak, 
the  ash,  or  the  ehn,  or  any  of  the  robust  trees 
of  the  forest,  which  we  consider  as  beautiful ; 
they  are  awful  and  majestic;  they  inspire  a 
sort  of  reverence.  It  is  the  delicate  myrtle, 
it  is  the  orange,  it  is  the  almond,  it  is  the  jas- 
mine, it  is  the  vine,  which  we  look  on  as 
vegetable  beauties.  It  is  the  flowery  species, 
so  remarkable  for  its  weakness  and  momentary 
duration,  that  gives  us  the  liveliest  idea  of 
beauty  and  elegance.  Among  animals,  the 
greyhound  is  more  beautiful  then  the  mastiff; 
and  the  delicacy  of  a  gennet,  a  barb,  or  an 
Arabian  horse%  is  much  more  amiable  than 
the  strength  and  stability  of  some  horses  of 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  175 

war  or  carriage.  I  need  here  say  little  of  the 
fair  sex,  where  I  believe  the  point  will  be 
easily  allowed  me.  The  beauty  of  women  is 
considerably  owing  to  their  weakness  or  deli- 
cacy, and  is  even  enhanced  by  their  timidity, 
a  quality  of  mind  analogous  to  it.  I  would 
not  here  be  understood  to  say,  that  weakness, 
betraying  very  bad  health,  has  any  share  in 
beauty;  but  the  ill  effect  of  this  is  not  be- 
cause it  is  weakness,  but  because  the  ill  state 
of  health,  which  produces  such  weakness, 
alters  the  other  conditions  of  beauty;  the 
parts  in  such  a  case  collapse;  the  bright  co- 
lour, the  lumen  purpureum  juventa^  is  gone ; 
and  the  fine  variation  is  lost  in  wrinkles,  sud- 
den breaks,  and  right  lines. 

SECT.  XVII. 

BEAUTY    IN    COLOUR. 

AS  to  the  colours  usually  found  in  beautiful 
bodies,  it  may  be  somewhat  difficult  to  ascer- 
tain them,  because,  in  the  several  parts  of  na- 
ture, there  is  an  infinite  variety.  However 
even  in  this  variety  we  may  mark  out  some- 
thing on  which  to  settle.     First,  the  colours 


176  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

of  beautiful  bodies  must  not  be   dusky  or 
muddy,  but  clean  and  fair.    Secondly,  they 
must  not  be  of  the  strongest  kind.     Those 
which  seem  most  appropriated  to  beauty  are 
the  milder  of  every  sort ;   light  greens ;   soft 
blues  ;  weak  whites  ;   pink  reds,  and  violets. 
Thirdly,  if  the  colours  be  strong  and  vivid, 
they  are  always  diversified,  and  the  object  is 
never  of  one  strong  colour ;   there  are  almost 
always  such  a  number  of  them  (as  in  variega- 
ted flowers),  that  the  strength  and  glare  of 
each  is  considerably  abated.     In  a  fine  com- 
plexion,  there  is  not   only  some   variety  in 
the  colouring,  but  the  colours:    neither  the 
red  nor  the  white  are  strong  and  glaring. 
Besides,  they  are  mixed  in  such  a  manner, 
and  with  such  gradations,  that  it  is  impossible 
to  fix  the  bounds.  On  the  same  principle  it  is, 
that  the  dubious  colour  in  the  necks  and  tails 
of  peacocks,  and  about  the  heads  of  drakes,  is 
so  very  agreeable.     In  reality,   the  beauty, 
both  of  shape  and  colouring,  are  as  nearly  re- 
lated   as   we   can    well    suppose   it  possible 
for  things  of  such  different  natures  to  be.     - 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  177 


SECT.  XVIII. 

RECAPITULATION. 

ON  the  whole,  the  qualities  of  beauty,  as 
they  are  merely  sensible  qualities,  are  the  fol- 
lowing :  First,  to  be  comparatively  small. 
Secondly,  to  be  smooth.  Thirdly,  to  have  a 
variety  in  the  direction  of  the  parts :  But, 
fourthly,  to  have  those  parts  not  angular,  but 
melted,  as  it  were,  into  each  other.  Fifthly, 
to  be  of  a  delicate  frame,  without  any  remark- 
able appearance  of  strength.  Sixthly,  to  have 
its  colours  clear  and  bright,  but  not  very 
strong  and  glaring.  Seventhly,  or  if  it  should 
have  any  glaring  colour,  to  have  it  diversified 
with  others.  These  are,  I  believe,  the  pro- 
perties on  which  beauty  depends  ;  properties 
that  operate  by  nature,  and  are  less  liable  to 
be  altered  by  caprice,  or  confounded  by  a  di- 
versity of  tastes,  than  any  other. 


178  ON  THE  SUBLIME 


SECT.  XIX. 

THE    PHYSIOGNOMY. 

1  HE  Physiognomy  has  a  considerable  share 
in  beauty,  especially  in  that  of  our  own  spe- 
cies. The  manners  give  a  certain  determina- 
tion to  the  countenance  ;  which,  being  obser- 
ved to  correspond  pretty  regularly  with  them, 
is  capable  of  joining  the  effects  of  certain 
agreeable  qualities  of  the  mind  to  those  of  the 
body :  so  that,  to  form  a  finished  human 
beauty,  and  to  give  it  its  full  influence,  the 
face  must  be  expressive  of  such  gentle  and 
amiable  qualities  as  correspond  with  the  soft- 
ness, smoothness,  and  delicacy  of  the  out- 
ward form. 


SECT.  XX. 

THE    EYE. 

I  HAVE  hitherto  purposely  omitted  to  speak 
of  the  Eye,  which  has  so  great  a  share  in  the 
beauty  of  the  animal  creation,  as  it  did  not 
fall   so    easily   under  the   foregoing    heads, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  179 

though  in  fact  it  is  reducible  to  the  same  prin- 
ciples. I  think,  then,  that  the  beauty  of  the 
eye  consists,  first,  in  its  clearness  :  what 
coloured  eye  shall  please  most  depends  a  good 
deal  on  particular  fancies ;  but  none  are 
pleased  with  any  eye  whose  water  (to  use 
that  term)  is  dull  and  muddy.*  We  are 
pleased  with  the  eye  in  this  view,  on  the 
principle  upon  which  we  like  diamonds, 
clear  water,  glass,  and  such  like  transparent 
substances.  Secondly,  the  motion  of  the  eye 
contributes  to  its  beauty,  by  continually  shift- 
ing its  directions  ;  but  a  slow  and  languid  mo- 
tion is  more  beautiful  than  a  brisk  one  :  the 
latter  is  enlivening  ;  the  former  lovely.  Third- 
ly, with  regard  to  the  union  of  the  eye  with 
the  neighbouring  parts,  it  is  to  hold  the 
same  rule  that  is  given  of  other  beautiful 
ones ;  it  is  not  to  make  a  strong  deviation 
from  the  line  of  the  neighbouring  parts  ;  nor 
to  verge  into  any  exact  geometrical  figure. 
Besides  all  this,  the  eye  affects,  as  it  is  ex- 
pressive of  some  qualities  of  the  mind,  and  its 
principal  power  generally  arises  from  this  ; 
so  that  what  we  have  just  said  of  the  physi- 
ognomy is  applicable  here. 

*  Part  IV.  sect  25, 


18G  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

SECT.  XXI. 


UGLINESS. 


IT  may  perhaps  appear  like  a  sort  of"  repeti- 
tion of  what  we  have  before  said,  to  insist  here 
upon  the  nature  of  Ugliness  ;  as  I  imagine  it 
to  be  in  all  respects  the  opposite  to  those  qua- 
lities which  we  have  laid  down  for  the  consti- 
tuents of  beauty.  But,  though  ugliness  be  the 
opposite  of  beauty,  it  is  not  the  opposite  to 
proportion  and  fitness  ;  for  it  is  possible  that 
a  thing  may  be  very  ugly  with  any  propor- 
tions, and  with  a  perfect  fitness  to  any  uses* 
Ugliness  I  imagine  likewise  to  be  consistent 
enough  with  an  idea  of  the  sublime :  but  I 
would  by  no  means  insinuate  that  ugliness,  of 
itself,  is  a  sublime  idea,  unless  united  with 
Jiuch  qualities  as  excite  a  strong  terror. 

SECT.  XXII. 

GRACE. 

GRACEFULNESS  is  an  idea  not  very 
ditfcreni  from  beauty ;  it  consists  in  much  the 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  181 

same  things.  Gracefulness  is  an  idea  belong- 
ing to  posture  and  motion*  In  both  these,  to 
be  graceful,  it  is  requisite  that  there  be  no  ap- 
pearance of  difficulty  ;  there  is  required  a 
small  inflection  of  the  body,  and  a  composure 
of  the  parts  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  incum- 
ber each  other,  nor  to  appear  divided  by 
sharp  and  sudden  angles.  In  this  case,  this 
roundness,  this  delicacy  of  attitude  and  mo- 
tion, it  is  that  all  the  magic  of  grace  consists, 
and  what  is  called  its  je  ne  sqai  quoi;  as  will 
be  obvious  to  any  observer,  who  considers  at- 
tentively the  Venus  de  Medicis,  the  An- 
tinous,  or  any  statue  generally  allowed  to  be 
graceful  in  a  high  degree. 

SECT.  XXIII. 

ELEGANCE    AND    SPECIOUSXESS. 

WHEN    any  body   is    composed  of  parts 

smoothed  and  polished,  without  pressing  upon 

each  other,  without  shewing  any  ruggedness 

or  confusion,  and  at  the  same  time  affecting 

some  regular  shape,  I  call  it  elegant.     It  is 

closely  allied  to  the  beautiful,  differing  from 

it  only  in  this  regularity  ;  which,  however,  as 

Q.2 


182  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

it  makes  a  verv  material  difference  in  the  af- 
fection produced,  may  very  well  constitute 
another  species.  Under  this  head  I  rank 
those  delicate  and  regular  works  of  art  that 
imitate  no  determinate  object  in  nature,  as 
elegant  buildings  and  pieces  of  furniture. 
When  any  object  partakes  of  the  above- 
mentioned  qualities,  or  of  those  of  beautiful 
bodies,  and  is  withal  of  great  dimensions,  it 
is  full  as  remote  from  the  idea  ot  mere  beau- 
ty, I  call  it  Jine  or  specious. 

SECT.  XXIV. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    IN    FEELING. 

1  HE  foregoing  description  of  beauty,  so  faf 
as  it  is  taken  in  by  the  eye,  may  be  greatly 
illustrated  by  describing  the  nature  of  objects 
which  produce  a  similar  effect  through  the 
touch.  This  I  call  the  beautiful  in  Feeling. 
It  corresponds  wonderfully  with  what  causes* 
the  same  species  of  pleasure  to  the  sight. 
There  is  a  chain  in  all  our  sensations  ;  they 
are  all  but  different  sorts  of  feelings,  calcu- 
lated to  be  affected  by  various  sorts  of  ob- 
jects, but  all  to  be  affected  after  the  same. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  183 

manner.  All  bodies  that  are  pleasant  to  the 
touch  are  so  by  the  slightness  of  the  resist- 
ance they  make.  Resistance  is  either  to  mo- 
tion along  the  surface,  or  to  the  pressure  of 
the  parts  on  one  another :  if  the  former  be 
slight,  we  call  the  body  smooth  ,-  if  the  latter, 
soft.  The  chief  pleasure  we  receive  by  feel- 
ing is  in  the  one  or  the  other  of  these  quali- 
ties i  and,  if  there  be  a  combination  of  both, 
our  pleasure  is  greatly  increased.  This  is  so 
plain,  that  it  is  rather  more  fit  to  illustrate 
other  things  than  to  be  illustrated  itself  by 
an  example.  The  next  source  of  pleasure  in 
this  sense,  as  in  every  other,  is  the  continu- 
ally presenting  somewhat  new ;  and  we  find 
that  bodies  which  continually  vary  their  sur- 
face are  much  the  most  pleasant  or  beautiful 
to  the  feeling,  as  any  one  that  pleases  may 
experience.  The  third  property  in  such  ob- 
jects is,  that  though  the  surface  continually 
varies  its  direction,  it  never  varies  it  sudden- 
ly. The  application  of  any  thing  sudden, 
even  though  the  impression  itself  have  little 
or  nothing  of  violence,  is  disagreeable.  The 
quick  application  of  a  finger  a  little  warmer 
or  colder  than  usual,  without  notice,  makes 
us  start  j  a  slight  tap  on  the  shoulder,  not  ex- 


184  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

pected,  has  the  same  effect.  Hence  it  is  that 
angular  bodies,  bodies  that  suddenly  vary 
the  direction  of  the  outline,  afford  so  little 
pleasure  to  the  feeling.  Every  such  change  is 
a  sort  of  climbing  or  falling  in  miniature  ;  so 
that  squares,  triangles,  and  other  angular 
figures,  are  neither  beautiful  to  the  sight  nor 
feeling.  Whoever  compares  his  state  of  mind, 
on  feeling  soft,  smooth,  variegated,  unan- 
gular  bodies,  with  that  in  which  he  finds 
himself,  on  the  view  of  a  beautiful  object, 
will  perceive  a  very  striking  analogy  in  the 
effects  of  both,  and  which  may  go  a  good  way 
towards  discovering  their  common  cause. 
Feeling  and  sight,  in  this  respect,  differ  in 
but  a  few  points.  The  touch  takes  in  the 
pleasure  of  softness,  which  is  not  primarily 
an  object  of  sight ;  the  sight,  on  the  other 
hand,  comprehends  colour,  which  can  hardly 
be  made  perceptible  to  the  touch :  the  touch 
again  has  the  advantage  in  a  new  idea  of  plea- 
sure resulting  from  a  moderate  degree  of 
warmth ;  but  the  eye  triumphs  in  the  infinite 
extent  and  multiplicity  of  its  objects.  But 
there  is  such  a  similitude  in  the  pleasures  of 
these  senses,  that  I  am  apt  to  fancy,  if  it  were 
possible   that  one  might   discern  colour   by 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  185 

feeling  (as,  it  is  said,  some  blind  men  have 
done),  that  the  same  colours,  and  the  same 
disposition  of  colouring,  which  are  found 
beautiful  to  the  sight,  would  be  found  like- 
wise most  graceful  to  the  touch.  But,  setting 
aside  conjectures,  let  us  pass  to  the  other 
sense — of  Hearing. 


SECT.   XXV. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    IN    SOUNDS. 

IN  this  sense  we  find  an  equal  aptitude  to  be 
affected  in  a  soft  and  delicate  manner ;  and 
how  far  sweet  or  beautiful  sounds  agree  with 
our  descriptions  of  beauty  in  other  senses,  the 
experience  of  every  one  must  decide.  Mil- 
ton has  described  this  species  of  music  in  one 
of  his  juvenile  poems.*  I  need  noi  say  that 
Milton  was  perfectly  well  versed  in  that  art ; 
and  that  no  man  had  a  finer  ear,  with  a  hap- 
pier manner  of  expressing  the  affections  of 
one  sense  by  metaphors  taken  from  another. 
The  description  is  as  follows  : 
m  ■  ■  ■  ' 

•  L'Alie£r<£ 


186  ON  THE  SUBLIME 


-And  ever  against  eating-  cares, 


Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs; 

In  notes  with  many  a  winding  bout 

Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out ; 

With  wanton  head  and  giddy  cunning, 

The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running  ; 

Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 

The  hidden  soul  of  harmony. 

Let  us  parallel  this  with  the  softness,  the 
winding  surface,  the  unbroken  continuance, 
the  easy  gradation  of  the  beautiful  in  other 
things  ;  and  all  the  diversities  of  the  several 
senses,  with  all  their  several  affections,  will 
rather  help  to  throw  lights  from  one  another, 
to  finish  one  clear  consistent  idea  of  the 
whole,  than  to  obscure  it  by  their  intricacy 
and  variety. 

To  the  above-mentioned  description  I  shall 
add  one  or  two  remarks.  The  first  is,  that 
the  beautiful  in  music  will  not  bear  that  loud- 
ness and  strength  of  sounds  which  may  be 
used  to  raise  other  passions ;  nor  notes,  which 
are  shrill,  or  harsh,  or  deep :  it  agrees  best 
with  such  as  are  clear,  even,  sn  ooth,  and 
weak.  The  second  is,  that  great  variety,  and 
quick  transitions  from  one  measure  or  tone  to 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  187 

another,  are  contrary  to  the  genius  of  the 
beautiful  in  music.  Such  transitions  often 
excite  mirth,  or  other  sudden  and  tumultuous 
passions;  but  not  that  sinking,  that  melting, 
that  languor,  which  is  the  characteristical  ef- 
fect of  the  beautiful,  as  it  regards  every  sense. 
The  passion  excited  by  beauty  is  in  fact 
nearer  to  a  species  of  melancholy  than  to 
jollity  and  mirth.*  I  do  not  here  mean  to 
confine  music  to  any  one  species  of  notes  or 
tones,  neither  is  it  an  art  in  which  I  can  say  I 
have  any  great  skill.  My  sole  design  in  this 
remark  is  to  settle  a  consistent  idea  of  beauty. 
The  infinite  variety  of  the  affections  of  the 
soul  will  suggest  to  a  good  head  and  skilful 
ear  a  variety  of  such  sounds  as  are  fitted  to 
raise  them.  It  can  be  no  prejudice  to  this,  to 
clear  and  distinguish  some  few  particulars 
that  belong  to  the  same  class,  and  are  consist- 
ent with  each  other,  from  the  immense  crowd 
of  different,  and  sometimes  contradictory, 
ideas  that  rank  vulgarly  under  the  standard  of 
beauty.  And  of  these  it  is  my  intention  to 
mark  such  only  of  the  leading  points  as  shew 
the  conformity  of  the  sense  of  hearing  with 

*  I  ne'er  am  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music. 

Shakespeax. 


188  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

all  the   other  senses  in  the    article  of  their 
pleasures. 

SECT.  XXVI. 

TASTE    AND    SMELL. 

1  HIS  general  agreement  of  the  senses  is  yet 
more  evident  on  minutely  considering  those 
of  taste  and  smell.  We  metaphorically  apply 
the  idea  of  sweetness  to  sights  and  sounds; 
but,  as  the  qualities  of  bodies,  by  which  they 
are  fitted  to  excite  either  pleasure  or  pain  in 
these  senses,  are  not  so  obvious  as  they  are  in 
the  others,  we  shall  refer  an  explanation  of 
their  analogy,  which  is  a  very  close  one,  to 
that  part  wherein  we  come  to  consider  the 
common  efficient  cause  of  beauty  as  it  regards 
all  the  senses.  I  do  not  think  any  thing  bet- 
ter fitted  to  establish  a  clear  and  settled  idea  of 
visual  beauty  than  this  way  of  examining  the 
similar  pleasures  of  others  senses ;  for  one  part 
is  sometimes  clear  in  one  of  these  senses,  that 
is  more  obscure  in  another ;  and,  where  there 
is  a  clear  concurrence  of  all,  we  may  with 
more  certainty  speak  of  any  one  of  them. 
By  this  means    they   bear   witness   to  each 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  189 

other;  nature  is,  as  it  were,  scrutinized;  and 
we  report  nothing  of  her  but  what  we  receive 
from  her  own  information. 


SECT.  XXVII. 

THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL    COMPARED. 

ON  closing  this  general  view  of  beauty,  it 
naturally  occurs  that  we  should  compare  it 
with  the  sublime ;  and,  in  this  comparison, 
there  appears  a  remarkable  contrast ;  for  sub- 
lime objects  are  vast  in  their  dimensions, 
beautiful  ones  comparatively  small:  beauty 
should  be  smooth  and  polished  ;  the  great, 
rugged  and  negligent :  beauty  should  shun 
the  right  line,  yet  deviate  from  it  insensibly; 
the  great,  in  many  cases,  loves  the  right  line  ; 
and,  when  it  deviates,  it  often  makes  a  strong 
deviation  :  beauty  should  not  be  obscure  ;  the 
great  ought  to  be  dark  and  gloomy :  beauty 
should  be  light  and  delicate  :  the  great  ought 
to  be  solid,  and  even  massive.  They  are,  in- 
deed, ideas  of  a  very  different  nature,  one 
being  founded  on  pain,  the  other  on  pleasure ; 
and,  however  they  may  vary  afterwards  from 

R 


190  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

the  direct  nature  of  their  causes,  yet  these 
causes  keep  up  an  eternal  distinction  between 
them,  a  distinction  never  to  be  forgotten  by 
any  whose  business  it  is  to  affect  the  passions. 
In  the  infinite  variety  of  natural  combinations 
we  must  expect  to  find  the  qualities  of  things 
the  most  remote  imaginable  from  each  other 
united  in  the  same  object.  We  must  expect 
also  to  find  combinations  of  the  same  kind  in 
the  works  of  art.  But  when  we  consider  the 
power  of  an  object  upon  our  passions,  we 
must  know  that,  when  any  thing  is  intended 
to  affect  the  mind  by  the  force  of  some  pre- 
dominant property,  the  affection  produced  is 
like  to  be  the  more  uniform  and  perfect,  if 
all  the  other  properties  or  qualities  of  the  ob- 
ject be  of  the  same  nature,  and  tending  to  the 
same  design  as  the  principal: 

If  black  and  white  blend,  soften,  and  unite, 

A  thousand  ways,  are  there  no  black  and  white  ? 

If  the  qualities  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful 
are  sometimes  found  united,  does  this  prove 
that  they  are  the  same;  does  it  prove  that 
they  are  any  way  allied ;  does  it  prove  even 
that  they  are  not .  opposite  and  contradictory  ? 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  191 

Black  and  white  may  soften,  may  blend ;  but 
they  are  not  therefore  the  same.  Nor,  when 
they  are  so  softened  and  blended  with  each 
other,  or  with  different  colours,  is  the  power 
of  black  as  black,  or  of  white  as  white,  so 
strong  as  when  each  stands  uniform  and  dis- 
tinguished ? 


END    OF    THE    THIRD    PART, 


PHILOSOPHICAL  INQUIRY 


INTO    THE 


ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS 


SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 


PART  IV.    SECT.  I. 

OF    THE     EFFICIENT     CAUSE     OF     THE    SUBLIME 
AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

WHEN  I  say  I  intend  to  inquire  into  the 
efficient  cause  of  sublimity  and  beauty,  I 
would  not  be  understood  to  say  that  I  can 
come  to  the  ultimate  cause.  I  do  not  pretend 
that  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  explain  why  cer- 
tain affections  of  the  body  produce  such  a 
distinct  emotion  of  mind,  and  no  other,  or 

R2 


194  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

why  the  body  is  at  all  affected  by  the  mind, 
or  the  mind  by  the  body.  A  little  thought 
will  shew  this  to  be  impossible.  But  I  con- 
ceive, if  we  can  discover  what  affections  of 
the  mind  produced  certain  emotions  of  the 
body;  and  what  distinct  feelings  and  quali- 
ties of  body  shall  produce  certain  determinate 
passions  in  the  mind,  and  no  others,  I  fancy 
a  great  deal  will  be  done  ;  something  not  un- 
useful  towards  a  distinct  knowledge  of  our 
passions,  so  far  at  least  as  we  have  them  at 
present  under  our,  consideration.  This  is  all, 
I  believe,  we  can  do.  If  we  could  advance  a 
step  farther,  difficulties  would  still  remain,  as 
we  should  be  still  equally  distant  from  the 
first  cause.  When  Newton  first  discovered 
the  property  of  attraction,  and  settled  its  laws, 
he  found  it  served  very  well  to  explain  seve- 
ral of  the  most  remarkable  phenomena  in  na- 
ture ;  but  yet,  with  reference  to  the  general 
system  of  things,  he  could  consider  attrac- 
tion but  as  an  effect,  whose  cause,  at  that 
time,  he  did  not. attempt  to  trace.  But  when, 
he  afterwards  began  to  account  for  it  by  a 
subtile  elastic  aether,  this  great  man  (if  in  so 
great  a  man  it  be  not  impious  to  discover  any 
thing  like  a  blemish),  seemed  to  have  quitted 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  195 

» 
his  usual  cautious  manner  of  philosophising  ; 

since,  perhaps,  allowing  all  that  has  been  ad- 
vanced on  this  subject  to  be  sufficiently- 
proved,  I  think  it  leaves  us  with  as  many  dif- 
ficulties as  it  found  us.  That  great  chain  of 
causes,  which,  linking  one  to  another,  even 
to  the  throne  of  God  himself,  can  never  be 
unravelled  by  any  industry  of  ours.  When 
we  go  but  one  step  beyond  the  immediately 
sensible  qualities  of  things,  we  go  out  of  our 
depth.  All  we  do  after  is  but  a  faint  struggle, 
that  shews  we  are  in  an  element  which  does 
not  belong  to  us.  So  that,  when  I  speak  of 
cause,  and  efficient  cause,  I  only  mean  cer- 
tain affections  of  the  mind,  that  cause  certain 
changes  in  the  body ;  or  certain  powers  and 
properties  in  bodies  that  work  a  change  in  the 
mind  :  as,  if  I  were  to  explain  the  motion  of 
a  body  falling  to  the  ground,  I  would  say  it 
was  caused  by  gravity  ;  and  I  would  endea- 
vour to  shew  after  what  manner  this  power 
operated,  without  attempting  to  shew  why  it 
operated  in  this  manner :  or  if  I  were  to  ex- 
plain the  effects  of  bodies  striking  one  another 
by  the  common  laws  of  percussion,  I  should 
not  endeavour  to  explain  how  motion  itself 
is  communicated. 


196  ON  THE  SUBLIME 


SECT.  II. 

ASSOCIATION. 

IT  is  no  small  bar  in  the  way  of  our  inquiry 
into  the  cause  of  our  passions,  that  the  occa- 
sion of  many  of  them  are  given,  and  that  their 
governing  motions  are  communicated  at  a 
time  when  we  have  not  capacity  to  reflect  on 
them  ;  at  a  time,  of  which  all  sort  of  memory 
is  worn  out  of  our  minds  :  for,  besides  such 
things  as  affect  us  in  various  manners,  accord- 
ing to  their  natural  powers,  there  are  associa- 
tions made  at  that  early  season  which  we  find 
[4tj  very  hard  afterwards  to  distinguish  from 
natural  effects.  Not  to  mention  the  unac- 
countable antipathies  which  we  find  in  many 
persons,  we  all  find  it  impossible  to  remem- 
ber when  a  steep  became  more  terrible  than  a 
plain  ;  or  fire  or  water  more  dreadful  than  a 
clod  of  earth ;  though  all  these  are  very  pro- 
bably either  conclusions  from  experience,  or 
arising  from  the  premonitions  of  others  ;  and 
some  of  them  impressed,  in  all  likelihood, 
pretty  late.  But,  as  it  must  be  allowed  that 
many  things  affect  us  after  a  certain  manner, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  197 

not  by  any  natural  powers  they  have  for  that 
purpose,  but  by  association ;  so  it  would  be 
absurd,  on  the  other  hand,  to  say  that  all 
things  affect  us  by  association  only ;  since 
some  things  must  have  been  originally  and 
naturally  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  from  which 
the  others  derive  their  associated  powers ; 
and  it  would  be,  I  fancy,  to  little  purpose  to 
to  look  for  the  cause  of  our  passions  in  asso- 
ciation, until  we  fail  of  it  in  the  natural  pro- 
perties of  things. 

SECT.  III. 

CAUSE    OF    PAIN    AND    FEAR. 

X  HAVE  before  observed,^  that  whatever 
is  qualified  to  cause  terror,  is  a  foundation  ca- 
pable of  the  sublime  ;  to  which  I  add,  that  not 
only  these,  but  many  things  from  which  we 
cannot  probably  apprehend  any  danger,  have 
a  similar  effect,  because  they  operate  in  a 
similar  manner.  I  observe,  too,  that  what- 
ever produces  pleasure,  positive  and  original 
pleasure,  is  fit  to  have  beauty  engrafted  on  it.f 

*  Part  I,  sect  8.  f  Part  l>  sect  10. 


198  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

Therefore,  to  clear  up  the  nature   of  these 
qualities,  it  may  be  necessary  to  explain  the 
nature  of  pain  and  pleasure,  on  which  they 
depend.       A  man  who  suffers  under  violent 
bodily  pain  (I  suppose  the  most  violent,  be- 
cause the  effect  may  be  the  more  obvious) ; 
I  say,  a  man  in  great  pain  has  his  teeth  set, 
his   eye-brows    are    violently  contracted,  his 
forehead  is  wrinkled,  his  eyes  are  dragged  in- 
wards, and  rolled  with  great  vehemence,  his 
hair  stands  an  end,  the  voice  is  forced  out  in 
short  shrieks  and  groans,  and  the  whole  fabric 
totters.     Fear  or  terror,  which  is  an  appre- 
hension of  pain  or  death,  exhibits  exactly  the 
same  effects,  approaching  in  violence  to  those 
just  mentioned,  in  proportion  to  the  nearness 
of  the  cause  and  the  weakness  of  the  subject. 
This  is  not  only  so  in  the  human  species :  but 
I  have  more  than  once  observed  in  clogs,  un- 
der an  apprehension  of  punishment,  that  they 
have   writhed  their  bodies,   and  yelped   and 
howled,  as  if  they  had  actually  felt  the  blows. 
From  whence  I  conclude,  that  pain  and  fear 
act  upon  the  same  parts  of  the  body,  and  in 
the  same  manner,  though  somewhat  differing 
in  degree  :     that  pain  and  fear  consists  in  an 
unnatural  tension  of  the  nerves  ;  that  this  is 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  199 

sometimes  accompanied  with  an  unnatural 
strength,  which  sometimes  suddenly  changes 
into  an  extraordinary  weakness;  that  these 
effects  often  come  on  alternately,  and  are 
sometimes  mixed  with  each  other.  This  is 
the  nature  of  all  convulsive  agitations,  espe- 
cially in  weaker  subjects,  which  are  the  most 
liable  to  the  severest  impressions  of  pain  and 
fear.  The  only  difference  between  pain  and 
terror  is,  that  things  which  cause  pain  operate 
on  the  mind  by  the  intervention  of  the  body ; 
whereas  things  that  cause  terror,  generally 
affect  the  bodily  organs  by  the  operation  of 
the  mind  suggesting  the  danger ;  but,  both 
agreeing,  either  primarily  or  secondarily,  in 
producing  a  tension,  contraction,  or  violent 
emotion  of  the  nerves,*  they  agree  likewise 
in  every  thing  else  ;  for  it  appears  very 
clearly  to  me,  from  this,  as  well  as  from 
many  other  examples,  that  when  the  body  is 
disposed,  by  any  means  whatsoever,  to  such 

*  I  do  not  here  enter  into  the  question  debated 
among  physiologists,  whether  pain  be  the  effect  of 
a  contraction  or  a  tension  of  the  nerves.  Either  will 
serve  my  purpose  ;  for,  by  tension,  I  mean  no  more 
than  a  violent  pulling'  of  the  fibres,  which  compose  any 
muscle  or  membrane,  in  whatever  way  this  is  done. 


200  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

emotions  as  it  would  acquire  by  the  means  of 
a  certain  passion,  it  will  of  itself  excite  some- 
thing very  like  that  passion  in  the  mind. 


SECT.  IV. 

CONTINUED. 

Xo  this  purpose  Mr.  Spon,  in  his  Recher- 
ches  d'Antiquite,  gives  us  a  curious  story  of 
the  celebrated  physiognomist  Campanella. 
This  man,  it  seems,  had  not  only  made  very 
accurate  observations  on  human  faces,  but 
was  very  expert  in  mimicking  such  as  were 
any  way  remarkable.  When  he  had  a  mind 
to  penetrate  into  the  inclination  of  those  he 
had  to  deal  with,  he  composed  his  face,  his 
gesture,  and  his  whole  body,  as  nearly  as  he 
could,  into  the  exact  similitude  of  the  person 
he  intended  to  examine  ;  and  then  carefully 
observed  what  turn  of  mind  he  seemed  to  ac- 
quire by  this  change  :  so  that,  says  my  author, 
he  was  able  to  enter  into  the  dispositions  and 
thoughts  of  people  as  effectually  as  if  he  had 
been  changed  into  the  very  men.  I  have 
often  observed,  that,  on  mimicking  the  looks 
and  gestures  of  angry,  or  placid,  or  frighted, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  201 

or  daring  men,  I  have  involuntarily  found 
my  mind  turned  to  that  passion  whose  appear- 
ance I  endeavoured  to  imitate ;  nay,  I  am 
convinced  it  is  hard  to  avoid  it,  though  one 
strove  to  separate  the  passion  from  its  corre- 
spondent gestures.  Our  minds  and  bodies 
are  so  closely  and  intimately  connected,  that 
one  is  incapable  of  pain  or  pleasure  without 
the  other.  Campanella,  of  whom  we  have 
been  speaking,  could  so  abstract  his  attention 
from  any  sufferings  of  his  body,  that  he  was 
able  to  endure  the  rack  itself  without  much 
pain  ;  and,  in  lesser  pains,  every  body  must 
have  observed,  that  when  we  can  employ  our 
attention  on  any  thing  else,  the  pain  has  been 
for  a  time  suspended  :  on  the  other  hand,  if, 
by  any  means,  the  body  is  indisposed  to  per- 
form such  gestures,  or  to  be  stimulated  into 
such  emotions  as  any  passion  usually  pro- 
duces in  it,  that  passion  itself  never  can  arise, 
though  its  cause  should  be  never  so  strongly 
in  action  ;  though  it  should  be  merely  mental, 
and  immediately  affecting  none  of  the  senses. 
As  an  opiate,  or  spirituous  liquors,  shall 
suspend  the  operation  of  grief,  or  fear,  or 
anger,  in  spite  of  all  our  efforts  to  the  contra- 
ry ;  and  this  by  inducing  in  the  body  a  dis- 


202  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

position  contrary  to  that  which  it  receives 
from  these  passions. 

SECT.   V. 

HOW    THE    SUBLIME    IS    PRODUCED. 

.HAVING  considered  terror  as  producing 
an  unnatural  tension  and  certain  violent  emo- 
tions of  the  nerves,  it  easily  follows,  from  what 
we  have  just  said,  that  whatever  is  fitted  to 
produce  such  a  tension  must  be  productive  of 
a  passion  similar  to  terror,*  and  consequently 
must  be  a  source  of  the  sublime,  though  it 
should  have  no  idea  of  danger  connected  with 
it :  so  that  little  remains  towards  shewing  the 
cause  of  the  sublime,  but  to  shew  that  the  in- 
stances we  have  given  of  it  in  the  second 
part  relate  to  such  things  as  are  fitted  by  na- 
ture to  produce  this  sort  of  tension,  either  by 
the  primary  operation  of  the  mind  or  the 
body.  With  regard  to  such  things  as  affect 
by  the  associated  idea  of  danger,  there  can  be 
no  doubt  but  that  they  produce  terror,  and  act 
by  some  modification  of  that  passion ;  and 
that  terror,   when  sufficiently  violent,  raises 

•  Part  II,  sect  2. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  203 

the  emotions  of  the  body  just  mentioned,  can 
as  little  be  doubted.  But,  if  the  sublime  is 
built  on  terror,  or  some  passion  like  it,  which 
has  pain  for  its  object,  it  is  previously  pro- 
per to  inquire  how  any  species  of  delight  can 
be  derived  from  a  cause  so  apparently  contra- 
ry to  it.  I  say  delight,  because,  as  I  have 
often  remarked,  it  is  very  evidently  different 
in  its  cause,  and  in  its  own  nature,  from  ac- 
tual and  positive  pleasure. 

SECT.  VI. 

HOW    PAIN    CAN    BE    A    CAUSE    OF    DELIGHT. 

PROVIDENCE  has  so  ordered  it,  that 
a  state  of  rest  and  inaction,  however  it  may 
flatter  our  indolence,  should  be  productive  of 
many  inconveniences  ;  that  it  should  generate 
such  disorders  as  may  force  us  to  have 
recource  to  some  labour,  as  a  thing  absolutely 
requisite  to  make  us  pass  our  lives  with  tole- 
rable satisfaction  j  for  the  nature  of  rest  is  to 
suffer  all  the  parts  of  our  bodies  to  fall  into  a 
relaxation,  that  not  only  disables  the  members 
from  performing  their  functions,  but  takes 
away  the  vigorous  tone  of  fibre  which  is  requi- 


204  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

site  for  carrying  on  the  natural  and  necessary 
secretions.  At  the  same  time  that,  in  this 
languid  inactive  state,  the  nerves  are  more  li- 
able to  the  most  horrid  convulsions  than  when 
they  are  sufficiently  braced  and  strengthened. 
Melancholy,  dejection,  despair,  and  often 
self-murder,  is  the  consequence  of  the  gloomy 
view  we  take  cf  things  in  this  relaxed  state 
of  body.  The  best  remedy  for  all  these  evils 
is  exercise  or  labour ;  and  labour  is  a  sur- 
mounting of  difficulties,  an  exertion  of  the 
contracting  power  of  the  muscles ;  and,  as 
such,  resembles  pain,  which  consists  in  ten- 
sion or  contraction,  in  every  thing  but  de- 
gree. Labour  is  not  only  requisite  to  pre- 
serve the  coarser  organs  in  a  state  fit  for  their 
functions ;  but  it  is  equally  necessary  to  these 
finer  and  more  delicate  organs,  on  which,  and 
by  which,  the  imagination,  and  perhaps  the 
other  mental  powers,  act.  Since  it  is  pro- 
bable, that  not  only  the  inferior  parts  of  the 
soul,  as  the  passions  are  called,  but  the  under- 
standing itself,  makes  use  of  some  fine  cor- 
poreal instruments  in  its  operation ;  though 
what  they  are,  and  where  they  are,  may  be 
somewhat  hard  to  settle :  but  that  it  does 
make  use  of  such,  appears  from  hence,  that  a 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  205 

long  exercise  of  the  mental  powers  induces  a 
remarkable  lassitude  of  the  whole  body  ;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  great  bodily  labour,  or 
pain,  weakens,  and  sometimes  actually  de- 
stroys, the  mental  faculties.  Now,  as  a  due 
exercise  is  essential  to  the  coarse  muscular 
parts  of  the  constitution,  and  that,  without 
this  rousing,  they  would  become  languid  and 
diseased,  the  very  same  rule  holds  with  regard 
to  those  finer  parts  we  have  mentioned ;  to 
have  them  in  proper  order,  they  must  be 
shaken  and  worked  to  a  proper  degree. 

SECT.  VII. 

EXERCISE    NECESSARY    FOR    THE    FINER 
ORGANS. 

AS  common  labour,  which  is  a  mode  of  pain, 
is  the  exercise  of  the  grosser,  a  mode  of  ter- 
ror is  the  exercise  of  the  finer  parts  of  the 
system  ;  and,  if  a  certain  mode  of  pain  be  of 
such  a  nature  as  to  act  upon  the  eye  or  the 
ear,  as  they  are  the  most  delicate  organs,  the 
affection  approaches  more  nearly  to  that  which 
has  a  mental  cause.  In  all  these  cases,  if  the 
pain  and  terror  are  so  modified  as  not  to  be 

s2 


206  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

actually  noxious  ;  if  the  pain  is  not  carried  to 
violence,  and  the  terror  is  not  conversant 
about  the  present  destruction  of  the  person, 
as  these  emotions  clear  the  parts,  whether  fine 
or  gross,  of  a  dangerous  and  troublesome  in- 
cumbrance, they  are  capable  of  producing 
delight ;  not  pleasure,  but  a  sort  of  delightful 
horror ;  a  sort  of  tranquillity  tinged  with  ter- 
ror; which,  as  it  belongs  to  self-preserva- 
tion, is  one  of  the  strongest  of  all  the  pas- 
sions. Its  object  is  the  sublime.*  Its  high- 
est degree  I  call  astonishment ;  the  subordi- 
nate degrees  are  awe,  reverence  and  respect, 
which,  by  the  very  etymology  of  the  words, 
shew  from  what  source  they  are  derived,  and 
how  they  stand  distinguished  from  positive 
pleasure. 

SECT.  VIII. 

WHY    THINGS    NOT    DANGEROUS    PRODUCE    A 
PASSION    LIKE    TERROR. 

A  MODE  of  terror  or  pain  is  always  the 
cause  of  the  sublime.^  For  terror,  or  associa- 
ted danger,  the  foregoing  explanation  is,  I  be- 

*  Part  II,  sect.  2.  t  Part  I,  sect.  7.  Part  II,  sect.  2. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  207 

lieve,  sufficient.  It  will  require  something 
more  trouble  to  shew,  that  such  examples  as 
I  have  given  of  the  sublime,  in  the  second 
part,  are  capable  of  producing  a  mode  of 
pain,  and  of  being  thus  allied  to  terror,  and 
to  be  accounted  for  on  the  same  principles. 
And,  first,  of  such  objects  as  are  great  in  their 
dimensions  :  I  speak  of  visual  objects. 

SECT.  IX. 

WHY    VISUAL    OBJECTS    OF    GREAT    DIMEN- 
SIONS   ARE    SUBLIME. 

VISION  is  performed  by  having  a  picture 
formed  by  the  rays  of  light  which  are  re- 
flected from  the  object  painted  in  one  piece, 
instantaneously,  on  the  retina,  or  last  nervous 
part  of  the  eye.  Or,  according  to  others, 
there  is  but  one  point  of  any  object  painted 
on  the  eye  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  per- 
ceived at  once ;  but,  by  moving  the  eye,  we 
gather  up  with  great  celerity  the  several  parts 
of  the  object,  so  as  to  form  one  uniform 
piece.  If  the  former  opinion  be  allowed,  it 
will   be    considered,^"    that,    though   all   the 

*  Part  II,  sect.  7. 


208  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

light  reflected  from  a  large  body  should  strike 
the  eye  in  one  instant,  yet  we  must  suppose 
that  the  body  itself  is  formed  of  a  vast  num- 
ber of  distinct  points,  every  one  of  which,  or 
the  ray  from  every  one,  makes  an  impression 
on  the  retina.  So  that,  though  the  image  of 
one  point  should  cause  but  a  small  tension  of 
this  membrane,  another,  and  another,  and  an- 
other stroke,  must  in  their  progress  cause  a 
very  great  one,  until  it  arrives  at  last  to  the 
highest  degree  ;  and  the  whole  capacity  of 
the  eye,  vibrating  in  all  its  parts,  must  ap- 
proach near  to  the  nature  of  what  causes  pain, 
and  consequently  must  produce  an  idea  of 
the  sublime.  Again :  if  we  take  it,  that  one 
point  only  of  an  object  is  distinguishable  at 
once,  the  matter  will  amount  nearly  to  the 
same  thing ;  or  rather,  it  will  make  the  origin 
of  the  sublime  from  greatness  of  dimension 
yet  clearer  ;  for,  if  but  one  point  is  observed 
at  once,  the  eye  must  traverse  the  vast  space 
of  such  bodies  with  great  quickness,  and  con- 
sequently the  fine  nerves  and  muscles  destined 
to  the  motion  of  that  part  must  be  very  much 
strained ;  and  their  great  sensibility  must 
make  them  highly  affected  by  this  straining. 
Besides,  it  signifies  just  nothing  to  the  effect 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  209 

produced,  whether  a  body  has  its  parts  con- 
nected, and  makes  its  impression  at  once  ; 
or,  making  but  one  impression  of  a  point  at  a 
time,  it  causes  a  succession  of  the  same  or 
others  so  quickly  as  to  make  them  seem  unit- 
ed ;  as  is  evident  from  the  common  effect  of 
whirling  about  a  lighted  torch  or  piece  of 
wood,  which,  if  done  with  celerity,  seems  a 
circle  of  fire. 


SECT.  X. 

UNITY    WHY    REQUISITE    TO    VASTNESS. 

IT  may  be  objected  to  this  theory,  that  the 
eye  generally  receives  an  equal  number  of 
rays  at  all  times,  and  that,  therefore,  a  great 
object  cannot  affect  it  by  the  number  of  rays, 
more  than  that  variety  of  objects  which  the 
eye  must  always  discern  whilst  it  remains 
open.  But  to  this  I  answer,  that,  admitting 
an  equal  number  of  rays,  or  an  equal  quantity 
of  luminous  particles,  to  strike  the  eye  at  all 
times,  yet,  if  these  rays  frequently  vary  their 
nature,  now  to  bhie,  now  to  red,  and  so  on, 
or  their  manner  of  termination,  as  to  a  num- 
ber of  petty  squares,  triangles,  or  the  like,  at 


210  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

every  change,  whether  of  colour  or  shape, 
the  organ  has  a  sort  of  a  relaxation  or  rest ;  but 
this  relaxation  and  labour,  so  often  interrupt- 
ed, is  by  no  means  productive  of  ease ;  nei- 
ther has  it  the  effect  of  vigorous  and  uniform 
labour.  Whoever  has  remarked  the  different 
effects  of  some  strong  exercise,  and  some  lit- 
tle piddling  action,  will  understand  why  a 
teasing  fretful  employment,  which  at  once 
wearies  and  weakens  the  body,  should  have 
nothing  great ;  these  sorts  of  impulses,  which 
are  rather  teasing  than  painful,  by  continu- 
ally and  suddenly  altering  their  tenor  and  di- 
rection, prevent  that  full  tension,  that  species 
of  uniform  labour,  which  is  allied  to  strong 
pain,  and  causes  the  sublime.  The  sum  total 
of  things  of  various  kinds,  though  it  should 
equal  the  number  of  the  uniform  parts  com- 
posing some  one  entire  object,  is  not  equal  in 
its  effect  upon  the  organs  of  our  bodies.  Be- 
sides the  one  already  assigned,  there  is  an- 
other very  strong  reason  for  the  difference. 
The  mind  in  reality  hardly  ever  can  attend 
diligently  to  more  than  one  thing  at  a  time; 
if  this  thing  be  little,  the  effect  is  little,  and  a 
number  of  other  little  objects  cannot  engage 
the  attention;   the  mind  is  bounded  by  the 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  211 

bounds  of  the  object;  and  what  is  not  at- 
tended to,  and  what  does  not  exist,  are  much 
the  same  in  the  effect:  but  the  eye,  or  the 
mind  (for  in  this  case  there  is  no  difference), 
in  great  uniform  objects,  does  not  readily  ar- 
rive at  their  bounds  ;  it  has  no  rest,  whilst  it 
contemplates  them;  the  image  is  much  the 
same  every  where:  so  that  every  thing  great 
by  its  quantity  must  necessarily  be  one,  sim- 
ple and  entire. 

SECT.  XL 

THE    ARTIFICIAL    INFINITE. 

W  E  have  observed,  that  a  species  of  great- 
ness arises  from  the  artificial  infinite;  and 
that  this  infinite  consists  in  an  uniform  suc- 
cession of  great  parts :  we  observed,  too,  that 
the  same  uniform  succession  had  a  like  power 
in  sounds.  But,  because  the  effects  of  many 
things  are  clearer  in  one  of  the  senses  than  in 
another,  and  that  all  the  senses  bear  an  ana- 
logy to  and  illustrate  one  another,  I  shall  be- 
gin with  this  power  in  sounds,  as  the  cause  of 
the  sublimity  from  succession  is  rather  more 
obvious  in  the  sense  of  hearing.     And  I  shall 


212  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

here  once  for  all  observe,  that  an  investiga- 
tion of  the  natural  and  mechanical  causes  of 
our  passions,  besides  the  curiosity  of  the  sub- 
ject, gives,  if  they  are  discovered,  a  double 
strength  and  lustre  to  any  rules  we  deliver  on 
such  matters.  When  the  ear  receives  any 
simple  sound,  it  is  struck  by  a  single  pulse  of 
the  air,  which  makes  the  ear-drum  and  the 
other  membranous  parts  vibrate  according  to 
the  nature  and  species  of  the  stroke.  If  the 
stroke  be  strong,  the  organ  of  hearing  suffers 
a  considerable  degree  of  tension.  If  the  stroke 
be  repeated  pretty  soon  after,  the  repetition 
causes  an  expectation  of  another  stroke.  And 
it  must  be  observed,  that  expectation  itself 
causes  a  tension.  This  is  apparent  in  many 
animals,  who,  when  they  prepare  for  hearing 
any  sound,  rouse  themselves,  and  prick  up 
their  ears:  so  that  here  the  effect  of  the  sounds 
is  considerably  augmented  by  a  new  auxiliary, 
the  expectation.  But  though,  after  a  number 
of  strokes,  we  expect  still  more,  not  being 
able  to  ascertain  the  exact  time  of  their  arri-» 
val,  when  they  arrive,  they  produce  a  sort  of 
surprise,  which  increases  this  tension  yet  fur- 
ther ;  for  I  have  observed,  that  when  at  any 
time  I  have  waited  very  earnestly  for  some 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  213 

sound,  that  returned  at  intervals  (as  the 
successive  firing  of  cannon),  though  I  fully 
expected  the  return  of  the  sound,  when  it 
came  it  always  made  me  start  a  little  ;  the  ear- 
drum suffered  a  convulsion,  and  the  whole 
body  consented  with  it.  The  tension  of  the 
part  thus  increasing  at  every  blow,  by  the 
united  forces  of  the  stroke  itself,  the  expecta- 
tion, and  the  surprise,  it  is  worked  up  to  such 
a  pitch  as  to  be  capable  of  the  sublime  ;  it  is 
brought  just  to  the  verge  of  pain.  Even  when 
the  cause  has  ceased,  the  organs  of  hearing, 
being  often  successively  struck  in  a  similar 
manner,  continue  to  vibrate  in  that  manner  for 
some  time  longer ;  this  is  an  additional  help 
to  the  greatness  of  the  effect. 

SECT.  XII. 

THE    VIBRATIONS     MUST    BE    SIMILAR. 

jDUT  if  the  vibration  be  not  similar  at  every 
impression,  it  can  never  be  earned  beyond 
the  number  of  actual  impressions  ;  for,  move 
any  body  as  a  pendulum,  in  one  way,  and  it 
will  continue  to  oscillate  in  an  arch  of  the 
same  circle,  until  the  known  causes  make  it 
rest ;  but  if,  after  first  putting  it  in  motion  in 

T 


214  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

one  direction,  you  push  it  into  another,  it 
can  never  reassume  the  first  direction,  because 
it  can  never  move  itself,  and  consequently  it 
can  have  but  that  effect  of  the  last  motion ; 
whereas,  if  in  the  same  direction  you  act  upon 
it  several  times,  it  will  describe  a  greater 
arch,  and  move  a  longer  time. 


SECT.  XIII. 

THE    EFFECT    OF    SUCCESSION    IN    VISUAL 
OBJECTS    EXPLAINED. 

IF  we  can  comprehend  clearly  how  things 
operate  upon  one  of  our  senses,  there  can  be 
very  little  difficulty  in  conceiving  in  what 
manner  they  affect  the  rest.  To  say  a  great 
deal,  therefore,  upon  the  corresponding  af- 
fections of  every  sense,  would  tend  rather  to 
fatigue  us,  by  an  useless  repetition,  than  to 
throw  any  new  light  upon  the  subject,  by  that 
ample  and  diffuse  manner  of  treating  it ;  but 
as,  in  this  discourse,  we  chiefly  attach  our- 
selves to  the  sublime,  as  it  affects  the  eye,  we 
shall  consider  particularly  why  a  successive 
disposition  of  uniform  parts  in  the  same  right 


AND  BEAUTIFUL,  215 

line  should  be  sublime,*  and  upon  what 
principle  this  disposition  is  enabled  to  make 
a  comparatively  small  quantity  of  matter  pro- 
duce a  grander  effect  than  a  much  larger 
quantity  disposed  in  another  manner.  To 
avoid  the  perplexity  of  general  notions,  let 
us  set  before  our  eyes  a  colonnade  of  uniform 
pillars  planted  in  a  right  line  ;  let  us  take  our 
stand  in  such  a  manner  that  the  eye  may 
shoot  along  this  colonnade,  for  it  has  its  best 
effect  in  this  view.  In  our  present  situation, 
it  is  plain  that  the  rays  from  the  first  round 
pillar  will  cause  in  the  eye  a  vibration  of  that 
species  ;  an  image  of  the  pillar  itself.  The 
pillar  immediately  succeeding  increases  it ; 
that  which  follows,  renews  and  enforces  the 
impression  ;  each  in  its  order,  as  it  succeeds, 
repeats  impulse  after  impulse,  and  stroke  af- 
ter stroke,  until  the  eye,  long  exercised  in  one 
particular  way,  cannot  lose  that  object  imme- 
diately ;  and,  being  violently  roused  by  this 
continued  agitation,  it  presents  the  mind  with 
a  grand  or  sublime  conception.  But,  instead 
of  viewing  a  rank  of  uniform  pillars,  let  us 
suppose  that  they  succeed  each  other,  a  round 
and  a  square  one  alternately.  In  this  case. 
*  Part  II,  Sect.  10. 


216  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

the  vibration  caused  by  the  first  round  pillar 
perishes  as  soon  as  it  is  formed  ;    and  one  of 
quite  another  sort  (the  square)  directly  occu- 
pies its  place,  which,  however,  it  resigns  as 
quickly  to  the  round  one  ;    and  thus  the  eye 
proceeds,   alternately,  taking  up  one  image 
and  laying  down  another,  as  long  as  the  build- 
ing continues :   from   whence   it  is  obvious, 
that,  at  the  last  pillar,  the  impression  is  as  far 
from  continuing  as  it  was  at  the  very  first ; 
because,  in  fact,  the  sensory  can  receive  no 
distinct  impression  but  from  the  last ;    and  it 
can  never  of  itself  resume  a  dissimilar  impres- 
sion :   besides,  every  variation  of  the  object 
is  a  rest  and  relaxation  to  the  organs  of  sight ; 
and  these  reliefs  prevent  that  powerful  emo- 
tion  so  necessary  to  produce   the   sublime. 
To  produce,  therefore,  a  perfect  grandeur  in 
such  things  as  we  have  been  mentioning,  there 
should  be  a  perfect  simplicity,   an  absolute 
uniformity  in  disposition,  shape,  and  colour- 
ing.    Upon  this  principle  of  succession  and 
uniformity  it  may  be  asked,  why  a  long  bare 
wall  should  not  be  a  more  sublime  object  than 
a  colonnade,  since  the  succession  is  no  way 
interrupted,  since  the   eye  meets  no   check, 
since  nothing  more  uniform  can  be  conceiv- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  217 

ed?  A  long  bare  wall  is  certainly  not  so 
grand  an  object  as  a  colonnade  of  the  same 
length  and  height.  It  is  not  altogether  diffi- 
cult to  account  for  this  difference.  When  we 
look  at  a  naked  wall,  from  the  evenness  of 
the  object,  the  eye  runs  along  its  whole 
space,  and  arrives  quickly  at  its  termination  ; 
the  eye  meets  nothing  which  may  interrupt  its 
progress ;  but  then  it  meets  nothing  which 
may  detain  it  a  proper  time  to  produce  a  very 
great  and  lasting  effect.  The  view  of  a  bare 
wall,  if  it  be  of  a  great  height  and  length,  is 
undoubtedly  grand  :  but  this  is  only  one  idea, 
and  not  a  repetition  of  similar  ideas  ;  it  is 
therefore  great,  not  so  much  upon  the  prin- 
ciple of  infinity,  as  upon  that  of  vastness. 
But  we  are  not  so  powerfully  affected  with 
any  one  impulse,  unless  it  be  one  of  a  prodi- 
gious force  indeed,  as  we  are  with  a  succes- 
sion of  similar  impulses  ;  because  the  nerves 
of  the  sensory  do  not  (if  I  may  use  the  ex- 
pression) acquire  a  habit  of  repeating  the 
same  feeling  in  such  a  manner  as  to  continue 
it  longer  than  its  cause  is  in  action ;  besides, 
all  the  effects  which  I  have  attributed  to  ex- 
pectation and  surprise,  in  sect.  11,  can  have 
no  place  in  a  bare  wall. 

t  2 


218  ON  THE  SUBLIME 


SECT.  XIV. 

Locke's  opinion  concerning  darkness 
considered. 

IT  is  Mr.  Locke's  opinion,  that  darkness  is 
not  naturally  an  idea  of  terror ;  and  that, 
though  an  excessive  light  is  painful  to  the 
sense,  that  the  greatest  excess  of  darkness  is 
no  way  troublesome.  He  observes,  indeed, 
in  another  place,  that  a  nurse,  or  an  old  wo- 
man, having  once  associated  the  ideas  of 
ghosts  and  goblins  with  that  of  darkness, 
night  ever  after  becomes  painful  and  horrible 
to  the  imagination.  The  authority  of  this 
great  man  is  doubdess  as  great  as  that  of  any 
man  can  be,  and  it  seems  to  stand  in  the  way 
of  our  general  principle.*  We  have  consi- 
dered darkness  as  a  cause  of  the  sublime ; 
and  we  have  all  along  considered  the  sublime 
as  depending  on  some  modification  of  pain  or 
terror ;  so  that,  if  darkness  be  no  way  painful 
or  terrible  to  any  who  have  not  had  their 
minds  early  tainted  with  superstitions,  it  can 
be  no  source  of  the  sublime  to  them.      But, 

*  Part  II,  sect.  3. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  219 

with  all  deference  to  such  an  authority,  it 
seems  to  me  that  an  association  of  a  more  ge- 
neral nature,  an  association  which  takes  in  all 
mankind,  may  make  darkness  terrible  :  for, 
in  utter  darkness,  it  is  impossible  to  know  in 
what  degree  of  safety  we  stand  ;  we  are  igno- 
rant of  the  objects  that  surround  us  ;  we  may 
every  moment  strike  against  some  dangerous 
obstruction ;  we  may  fall  down  a  precipice, 
the  first  step  we  take  ;  and,  if  an  enemy  ap- 
proach, we  know  not  in  what  quarter  to  de- 
fend ourselves  :  in  such  a  case  strength  is  no 
sure  protection ;  wisdom  can  only  act  by 
guess ;  the  boldest  are  staggered  ;  and  he  who 
would  pray  for  nothing  else  towards  his  de- 
fence, is  forced  to  pray  for  light : 


Zvj  Ts-ctlia-,  axxol  au  pvo-du  vtt  tups  viae  A%euw 
TIoiho-ov  cf'  «t/6g»y,  efoc  tT  c^Bax/ulois-iv  tJfe-Bar 


As  to  the  association  of  ghosts  and  goblins, 
surely  it  is  more  natural  to  think  that  dark- 
ness, being  originally  an  idea  of  terror,  was 
chosen  as  a  fit  scene  for  such  terrible  repre- 
sentations, than  that  such  representations  have 
made  darkness  terrible.      The  mind  of  man 


220  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

very  easily  slides  into  an  error  of  the  former 
sort ;  but  it  is  very  hard  to  imagine,  that  the 
effect  of  an  idea  so  universally  terrible  in  all 
times,  and  in  all  countries,  as  darkness,  could 
possibly  have  been  owing  to  a  set  of  idle  sto- 
ries, or  to  any  cause  of  a  nature  so  trivial, 
and  of  an  operation  so  precarious. 


SECT.  XV. 

DARKNESS  TERRIBLE  IN  ITS  OWN  NATURE. 

PERHAPS  it  may  appear,  on  inquiry,  that 
blackness  and  darkness  are  in  some  degree 
painful  by  their  natural  operation,  indepen- 
dent of  any  associations  whatsoever.  I  must 
observe,  that  the  ideas  of  darkness  and  black- 
ness are  much  the  same  ;  and  they  differ  only 
in  this,  that  blackness  is  a  more  confined  idea. 
Mr.  Cheselden  has  given  us  a  very  curious 
story  of  a  boy  who  had  been  born  blind,  and 
continued  so  until  he  was  thirteen  or  four- 
teen years  old ;  he  was  then  couched  for  a 
cataract,  by  which  operation  he  received  his 
sight.  Among  many  remarkable  particulars 
that  attended  his  first  perceptions  and  judg- 
ments on  visual  objects,  Cheselden  tells  us, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.         221 

that  the  first  time  the  boy  saw  a  black  object, 
it  gave  him  great  uneasiness  ;  and  that,  some 
time  after,  upon  accidentally  seing  a  negro 
woman,  he  was  struck  with  great  horror  at 
the  sight.  The  horror,  in  this  case,  can 
scarcely  be  supposed  to  arise  from  any  asso- 
ciation. The  boy  appears,  by  the  account, 
to  have  been  particularly  observing  and  sen- 
sible for  one  of  his  age  ;  and  therefore  it  is 
probable,  if  the  great  uneasiness  he  felt  at  the 
first  sight  of  black  had  arisen  from  its  connec- 
tion with  any  other  disagreeable  ideas,  he 
would  have  observed  and  mentioned  it ;  for 
an  idea,  disagreeable  only  by  association,  has 
the  cause  of  its  ill  effect  on  the  passions  evi- 
dent enough  at  the  first  impression  :  in  ordi- 
nary cases,  it  is  indeed  frequently  lost ;  but 
this  is  because  the  original  association  was 
made  very  early,  and  the  consequent  impres- 
sion repeated  often.  In  our  instance,  there 
was  no  time  for  such  an  habit ;  and  there  is 
no  reason  to  think  that  the  ill  effects  of  black 
on  his  imagination  were  more  owing  to  its 
connection  with  any  disagreeable  ideas  than 
that  the  good  effects  of  more  cheerful  colours 
were  derived  from  their  connection  with  pleas- 


222  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

ing  ones.     They  had  both,   probably,   their 
effects  from  their  natural  operation. 


SECT.  XVI. 

WHY    DARKNESS    IS    TERRIBLE. 

IT  maybe  worth  while  to  examine  how  dark- 
ness can  operate  in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause 
pain.  It  is  observable,  that,  still  as  we  recede 
from  the  light,  nature  has  so  contrived  it  that 
the  pupil  is  enlarged  by  the  retiring  of  the 
iris,  in  proportion  to  our  recess.  Now,  in- 
stead of  declining  from  it  but  a  little,  suppose 
that  we  withdraw  entirely  from  the  light,  it 
is  reasonable  to  think  that  the  contraction  of 
the  radial  fibres  of  the  iris  is  proportionably 
greater;  and  that  this  part  may,  by  great 
darkness,  come  to  be  so  contracted  as  to  strain 
the  nerves  that  compose  it  beyond  their  na- 
tural tone,  and  by  this  means  to  produce  a 
painful  sensation.  Such  a  tension,  it  seems, 
there  certainly  is,  whilst  we  are  involved  in 
darkness  ;  for,  in  such  a  state,  whilst  the  eye 
remains  open,  there  is  a  continual  nisus  to 
receive  light :  this  is  manifest  from  the  flashes 
and  luminous  appearances  which  often  seem, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  223 

in  these  circumstances,  to  play  before  it,  and 
which  can  be  nothing  but  the  effect  of  spasms 
produced  by  its  own  efforts  in  pursuit  of  its 
object:  several  other  strong  impulses  will  pro- 
duce the  idea  of  light  in  the  eye,  besides  the 
substance  of  light  itself,  as  we  experience  on 
many  occasions.     Some,  who  allow  darkness 
to  be  a  cause  of  the  sublime,  would  infer, 
from  the  dilation  of  the  pupil,  that  a  relaxation 
may  be  productive  of  the  sublime  as  well  as 
a  convulsion :  but  they  do  not,  I  believe,  con- 
sider that,  although  the  circular  ring  of  the 
iris  be  in  some  sense  a  sphincter,  which  may 
possibly  be  dilated  by  a  simple  relaxation,  yet 
in  one   respect  it  differs    from  most  of   the 
other  sphincters  of  the  body  j  that  it  is  furnish- 
ed with  antagonist  muscles,  which  are  the  ra- 
dial fibres  of  the  iris :  no  sooner  does  the  cir- 
cular muscle  begin  to  relax,  than  these  fibres, 
wanting  their  counterpoise,  are  forcibly  drawn 
back,  and    open  the   pupil  to  a  considerable 
wideness.     But  though  we  were  not  apprised 
of  this,  I  believe  any  one  will  find,  if  he  opens 
his  eyes,  and  makes  an  effort  to  see  in  a  dark 
place,  that  a   very  perceivable    pain  ensues. 
And  I  have  heard  some  ladies  remark,  that, 
after    having   worked   a   long  time  upon  a 


224  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

ground  of  black,  their  eyes  were  so  pained 
and  weakened,  they  could  hardly  see.  It  may, 
perhaps,  be  objected  to  this  theory  of  the  me- 
chanical effect  of  darkness,  that  the  ill  effects 
of  darkness  or  blackness  seem  rather  mental 
than  corporeal :  and  I  own  it  is  true,  that  they 
do  so ;  and  so  do  all  those  that  depend  on  the 
affections  of  the  finer  parts  of  our  system. 
The  ill  effects  of  bad  weather  appear  often  no 
otherwise  than  in  a  melancholy  and  dejection 
of  spirits ;  though,  without  doubt,  in  this  case, 
the  bodily  organs  suffer  first,  and  the  mind 
through  these  organs. 

SECT.  XVII. 

THE  EFFECTS  OF  BLACKNESS. 

.BLACKNESS  is  but  a  partial  darkness ;  and 
therefore  it  derives  some  of  its  powers  from 
being  mixed  and  surrounded  with  coloured 
bodies.  In  its  own  nature  it  cannot  be  con- 
sidered as  a  colour.  Black  bodies,  reflecting 
none,  or  but  a  few  rays,  with  regard  to  sight, 
are  but  as  so  many  vacant  spaces  dispersed 
among  the  objects  we  view.  When  the  eye 
lights  on  one  of  these  vacuities,  after  having 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  225 

been  kept  in  some  degree  of  tension  by  the 
play  of  the  adjacent  colours  upon  it,  it  sud- 
denly falls  into  a  relaxation ;  out  of  which  it 
as  suddenly  recovers  by  a  compulsive  spring. 
To  illustrate  this,  let  us  consider  that  when 
we  intend  to  sit  in  a  chair,  and  find  it  much 
lower  than  we  expected,  the  shock  is  very 
violent;  much  more  violent  than  could  be 
thought  from  so  slight  a  fall  as  the  difference 
between  one  chair  and  another  can  possibly 
make.  If,  after  descending  a  flight  of  stairs, 
we  attempt  inadvertently  to  take  another  step 
in  the  manner  of  the  former  ones,  the  shock 
is  extremely  rude  and  disagreeable ;  and  by 
no  art  can  we  cause  such  a  shock  by  the  same 
means  when  we  expect  and  prepare  for  it. 
When  I  say  that  this  is  owing  to  having  the 
change  made  contrary  to  expectation,  I  do 
not  mean  solely  when  the  mind  expects  :  I 
mean  likewise,  that  when  any  organ  of  sense 
is  for  some  time  affected  in  some  one  manner 
if  it  be  suddenly  affected  otherwise,  there  en- 
sues a  convulsive  motion ;  such  a  convulsion 
as  is  caused  when  any  thing  happens  against 
the  expectance  of  the  mind.  And  though  it 
may  appear  strange  that  such  a  change  as 
produces    a   relaxation    should   immediately 


226  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

produce  a  sudden  convulsion,  it  is  yet  most 
certainly  so,  and  so  in  all  the  senses.  Every 
one  knows  that  sleep  is  a  relaxation ;  and  that 
silence,  where  nothing  keeps  the  organs  of 
hearing  in  action,  is  in  general  fittest  to  bring 
on  this  relaxation :  yet,  when  a  sort  of  mur- 
muring sounds  dispose  a  man  to  sleep,  let 
these  sounds  cease  suddenly,  and  the  person 
immediately  awakes;  that  is,  the  parts  are 
braced  up  suddenly,  and  he  awakes.  This  I 
have  often  experienced  myself;  and  I  have 
heard  the  same  from  observing  persons.  In 
like  manner,  if  a  person  in  broad  day-light 
were  falling  asleep,  to  introduce  a  sudden 
darkness  would  prevent  his  sleep  for  that 
time,  though  silence  and  darkness  in  them- 
selves, and  not  suddenly  introduced,  are  veiy 
favourable  to  it.  This  I  knew  only  by  con- 
jecture on  the  analogy  of  the  senses,  when  I 
first  digested  these  observations  ;  but  I  have 
since  experienced  it.  And  I  have  often  expe- 
rienced, and  so  have  a  thousand  others,  that, 
on  the  first  inclining  towards  sleep,  we  have 
been  suddenly  awakened  with  a  most  violent 
start ;  and  that  this  start  was  generally  pre- 
ceded by  a  sort  of  dream  of  our  falling  down 
a  precipice.  Whence  does  this  strange  motion 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  227 

arise,  but  from  the  too  sudden  relaxation  of 
the  body,  which,  by  some  mechanism  in  na- 
ture, restores  itself  by  as  quick  and  vigorous 
an  exertion  of  the  contracting  power  of  the 
muscles?  The  dream  itself  is  caused  by  this 
relaxation  :  and  it  is  of  too  uniform  a  nature 
to  be  attributed  to  any  other  cause.  The 
parts  relax  too  suddenly,  which  is  in  the  na- 
ture of  falling ;  and  this  accident  of  the  body 
induces  this  image  in  the  mind.  When  we 
are  in  a  confirmed  state  of  health  and  vigour, 
as  all  changes  are  then  less  sudden,  and  less 
on  the  extreme,  we  can  seldom  complain  of 
this  disagreeable  sensation. 

SECT.  XVIII. 

THE  EFFECTS  OF  BLACKNESS  MODERATED. 

1  HOUGH  the  effects  of  black  be  painful  ori- 
ginally, we  must  not  think  they  always  con- 
tinue so.  Custom  reconciles  us  to  every 
thing.  After  we  have  been  used  to  the  sight 
of  black  objects,  the  terror  abates,  and  the 
smoothness  and  glossiness,  or  some  agreeable 
accident  of  bodies  so  coloured,  softens  in 
some    measure  the  horror  and  sternness   of 


228  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

their  original  nature;  yet  the  nature  of  the 
original  impression  still  continues.  Black 
will  always  have  something  melancholy  in  it, 
because  the  sensory  will  always  find  the 
change  to  it,  from  other  colours,  too  violent; 
or,  if  it  occupy  the  whole  compass  of  the 
sight,  it  will  then  be  darkness ;  and  what  was 
said  of  darkness  will  be  applicable  here.  I 
do  not  purpose  to  go  into  all  that  might  be 
said  to  illustrate  this  theory  of  the  effects  of 
light  and  darkness;  neither  will  I  examine 
all  the  different  effects  produced  by  the  va- 
rious modifications  and  mixtures  of  these  two 
causes.  If  the  foregoing  observations  have 
any  foundation  in  nature,  I  conceive  them 
very  sufficient  to  account  for  all  the  pheno- 
mena that  can  arise  from  all  the  combinations 
of  black  with  other  colours.  To  enter  into 
every  particular,  or  to  answer  every  objec- 
tion, would  be  an  endless  labour.  We  have 
only  followed  the  most  leading  roads;  and 
we  shall  observe  the  same  conduct  in  our 
inquiry  into  the  cause  of  beauty. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  229 

SECT.   XIX. 

THE  PHYSICAL  CAUSE  OF  LOVE. 

WHEN  we  have  before  us  such  objects  as 
excite  love  and  complacency,  the  body  is 
affected,  so  far  as  I  could  observe,  much  in 
the  following  manner:  The  head  reclines 
something  on  one  side ;  the  eye-lids  are  more 
closed  than  usual,  and  the  eyes  roll  gently 
with  an  inclination  to  the  object ;  the  mouth 
is  a  little  opened,  and  the  breath  drawn  slow- 
ly, with  now  and  then  a  low  sigh ;  the  whole 
body  is  composed,  and  the  hands  fall  idly  to 
the  sides.  All  this  is  accompanied  with  an 
inward  sense  of  melting  and  languor.  These 
appearances  are  always  proportioned  to  the 
degree  of  beauty  in  the  object,  and  of  sensi- 
bility in  the  observer.  And  this  gradation 
from  the  highest  pitch  of  beauty  and  sensi- 
bility, even  to  the  lowest  of  mediocrity  and  in- 
difference, and  their  correspondent  effects, 
ought  to  be  kept  in  view,  else  this  description 
will  seem  exaggerated,  which  it  ceitainly  is 
not.  But,  from  this  description,  it  is  almost 
impossible  not  to  conclude,  that  beauty  acts 

u2 


230  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

by  relaxing  the  solids  of  the  whole  system. 
There  are  all  the  appearances  of  such  a  relax- 
ation; and  a  relaxation  somewhat  below  the 
natural  tone  seems  to  me  to  be  the  cause  of 
all  positive  pleasure.  Who  is  a  stranger  to 
that  manner  of  expression,  so  common  in  all 
times  and  in  all  countries,  of  being  softened, 
relaxed,  enervated,  dissolved,  melted  awav  by 
pleasure?  The  universal  voice  of  mankind, 
faithful  to  their  feelings,  concurs  in  affirming 
this  uniform  and  general  effect:  and  although 
some  odd  and  particular  instance  may  perhaps 
be  found,  wherein  there  appears  a  consider- 
able degree  of  positive  pleasure,  without  all 
the  characters  of  relaxation,  we  must  not 
therefore  reject  the  conclusion  we  had  drawn 
from  a  concurrence  of  many  experiments  ; 
bat  we  must  still  retain  it,  subjoining  the  ex- 
ceptions which  may  occur  according  to  the 
judicious  rule  laid  down  by  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
in  the  third  book  of  his  Optics.  Our  position 
will,  I  conceive,  appear  confirmed  beyond 
any  reasonable  doubt,  if  we  can  shew  that 
such  things,  as  we  have  already  observed  to 
be  the  genuine  constituents  of  beauty,  have 
each  of  them,  separately  taken,  a  natural  ten- 
dency to  relax  the  fibres.     And  if  it  must  be 


AND  BEAUTIFUL,  231 

allowed  us,  that  the  appearance  of  the  human 
body,  when  all  these  constituents  are  united 
together  before  the  sensory,  further  favours 
this  opinion,  we  may  venture,  I  believe,  to 
conclude,  that  the  passion  called  love  is  pro- 
duced by  this  relaxation.  By  the  same  me- 
thod of  reasoning  which  we  have  used  in  the 
inquiry  into  the  causes  of  the  sublime,  we 
may  likewise  conclude,  that  as  a  beautiful  ob- 
ject presented  to  the  sense,  by  causing  a  re- 
laxation in  the  body,  produces  the  passion  of 
love  in  the  mind ;  so,  if  by  any  means  the 
passion  should  first  have  its  origin  in  the 
mind,  a  relaxation  of  the  outward  organs  will 
as  certainly  ensue  in  a  degree  proportioned  to 
the  cause. 


SECT.  XX. 

WHY    SMOOTHNESS    IS    BEAUTIFUL. 

IT  is  to  explain  the  true  cause  of  visual 
beauty  that  I  call  in  the  assistance  of  the 
other  senses.  If  it  appears  that  smoothness  is 
a  principal  cause  of  pleasure  to  the  touch, 
taste,  smell,  and  hearing,  it  will  be  easily  ad- 
mitted a  constituent  of  visual  beauty  j   espe- 


232  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

cially  as  we  have  before  shewn  that  this  qua- 
lity is  found,  almost  without  exception,  in  all 
bodies  that  are  by  general  consent  heid  beau- 
tiful. There  can  be  no  doubt  that  bodies, 
which  are  rough  and  angular,  rouse  and  vel- 
licate  the  organs  of  feeling,  causing  a  sense 
of  pain,  which  consists  in  the  violent  tension 
or  contraction  of  the  muscular  fibres.  On 
the  contrary,  the  application  of  smooth  bo- 
dies relax;  gentle  stroking  with  a  smooth 
hand  allays  violent  pains  and  cramps,  and  re- 
laxes the  suffering  parts  from  their  unnatural 
tension  ;  and  it  has,  therefore,  very  often  no 
mean  effect  in  removing  swellings  and  ob- 
structions. The  sense  of  feeling  is  highly 
gratified  with  smooth  bodies.  A  bed  smooth- 
ly laid,  and  soft,  that  is,  where  the  resistance 
is  every  way  inconsiderable,  is  a  great  luxury, 
disposing  to  an  universal  relaxation,  and  in- 
ducing, beyond  any  thing  else,  that  species 
of  it  called  sleep. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  233 


SECT.  XXI. 

SWEETNESS,    ITS    NATURE. 

IN  OR  is  it  only  in  the  touch  that  smooth  bo- 
dies cause  positive  pleasure  by  relaxation.  In 
the  sm-ell  and  taste  we  find  all  things  agree- 
able to  them,  and  which  are  commonly  called 
sweet,  to  be  of  a  smooth  nature,  and  that 
they  all  evidently  tend  to  relax  their  respec- 
tive sensories.  Let  us  first  consider  the  taste. 
Since  it  is  most  easy  to  inquire  into  the  pro- 
perty of  liquids,  and  since  all  things  seem  to 
want  a  fluid  vehicle  to  make  them  tasted  at 
all,  I  intend  rather  to  consider  the  liquid  than 
the  solid  parts  of  our  food.  The  vehicles  of 
all  tastes  ?re  water  and  oil.  And  what  deter- 
mines the  taste  is  some  salt,  which  affects  va- 
riously, according  to  its  nature,  or  its  manner 
of  being  combined  with  other  things.  Water 
and  oil,  simply  considered,  are  capable  of 
giving  some  pleasure  to  the  taste.  Water, 
when  simple,  is  insipid,  inodorous,  colour- 
less, and  smooth  ;  it  is  found,  when  not  cold, 
to  be  a  great  resolver  of  spasms,  and  lubri- 


234  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

cator  of  the  fibres :  this  power  it  probably 
owes  to  its  smoothness  ;  for  as  fluidity  de- 
pends, according  to  the  most  general  opinion, 
on  the  roundness,  smoothness  and  weak  co- 
hesion of  the  component  parts  of  any  body, 
and  as  water  acts  merely  as  a  simple  fluid,  it 
follows,  that  the  cause  of  its  fluidity  is  like- 
wise the  cause  of  its  relaxing  quality  ;  name- 
ly, the  smoothness  and  slippery  texture  of  its 
parts.  The  other  fluid  vehicle  of  tastes  is  oil. 
This,  too,  when  simple,  is  insipid,  inodo- 
rous, colourless,  and  smooth  to  the  touch  and 
taste.  It  is  smoother  than  water,  and  in  ma- 
ny cases  yet  more  relaxing.  Oil  is  in  some 
degree  pleasant  to  the  eye,  the  touch,  and  the 
taste,  insipid  as  it  is.  Water  is  not  so  grate- 
ful ;  which  I  do  not  know  on  what  principle 
to  account  for,  other  than  that  water  is  not 
so  soft  and  smooth.  Suppose  that  to  this  oil 
or  water  were  added  a  certain  quantity  of  a 
specific  salt,  which  had  a  power  of  putting 
the  nervous  papillae  of  the  tongue  into  a  gen- 
tle vibratory  motion ;  as  suppose  sugar  dis- 
solved in  it :  the  smoothness  of  the  oil,  and 
the  vibratory  power  of  the  salt,  cause  the 
sense  we  call  sweetness.  In  all  sweet  bodies 
sugar,  or  a  substance  very  little  different  from 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  235 

sugar,  is  constantly  found :  every  species  of 
salt,  examined  by  the  microscope,  has  its  own 
distinct,  regular,  invariable  form.  That  of 
nitre  is  a  pointed  oblong  ;  that  of  sea-salt  an 
exact  cube  ;  that  of  sugar  a  perfect  globe. 
If  you  have  tried  how  smooth  globular  bo- 
dies, as  the  marbles  with  which  boys  amuse 
themselves  have  affected  the  touch  when  they 
are  rolled  backward  and  forward,  and  over 
one  another,  you  wTiil  easily  conceive  how 
sweetness,  which  consists  in  a  salt  of  such 
nature,  affects  the  taste  ;  for  a  single  globe 
(though  somewhat  pleasant  to  the  feeling, 
yet),  by  the  regularity  of  its  form,  and  the 
somewhat  too  sudden  deviation  of  its  parts 
from  a  right  line,  it  is  nothing  near  so  pleasant 
to  the  touch  as  several  globes,  where  the  hand 
gently  rises  to  one  and  falls  to  another :  and 
this  pleasure  is  greatly  increased  if  the  globes 
are  in  motion,  and  sliding  over  one  another ; 
for  this  soft  variety  prevents  that  weariness 
which  the  uniform  disposition  of  the  several 
globes  would  otherwise  produce.  Thus,  in 
sweet  liquors,  the  parts  of  the  fluid  vehicle, 
though  most  probably  round,  are  yet  so  mi- 
nute as  to  conceal  the  figure  of  their  compo- 
nent parts  from  the  nicest  inquisition  of  the 


236  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

microscope  ;  and  consequently,  being  so  ex- 
cessively minute,  they  have  a  sort  of  flat  sim- 
plicity to  the  taste,  resembling  the  effects  of 
plain  smooth  bodies  to  the  touch ;  for,  if  a 
body  be  composed  of  round  parts  excessively 
small,  and  packed  pretty  closely  together,  the 
surface  will  be,  both  to  the  sight  and  touch, 
as  if  it  were  nearly  plain  and  smooth.  It  is 
clear,  from  their  unveiling  their  figure  to  the 
microscope,  that  the  panicles  of  sugar  are 
considerably  larger  than  those  of  water  or  oil ; 
and  consequently,  that  their  effects  from  their 
roundness  will  be  more  distinct  and  palpable 
to  the  nervous  papillae  of  that  nice  organ  the 
tongue :  they  will  induce  that  sense  called 
sweetness,  which  in  a  weak  manner  we  dis- 
cover in  oil,  and  in  a  yet  weaker  in  water ; 
for,  insipid  as  they  are,  water  and  oil  are  in 
some  degree  sweet ;  and  it  may  be  observed, 
that  insipid  things  of  all  kinds  approach  more 
nearly  to  the  nature  of  sweetness  than  to  that 
of  any  other  taste. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  237 

SECT.  XXII. 

SWEETNESS    RELAXING. 

IN  the  other  senses  we  have  remarked  that 
smooth  things  are  relaxing.  Now  it  ought  to 
appear  that  sweet  things,  which  are  the  smooth 
of  taste,  are  relaxing  too.  It  is  remarkable, 
that,  in  some  languages,  soft  and  sweet  have 
but  one  name.  Donx,  in  French,  signifies 
soft  as  well  as  sweet.  The  Latin  didcis,  and 
the  Italian  didce,  have  in  many  cases  the  same 
double  signification.  That  sweet  things  are 
generally  relaxing,  is  evident;  because  all 
such,  especially  those  which  are  most  oily, 
taken  frequently,  or  in  a  large  quantity,  very 
much  enfeeble  the  tone  of  the  stomach. 
Sweet  smells,  which  bear  a  great  affinity  to 
sweet  tastes,  relax  very  remarkably.  The 
smell  of  flowers  disposes  people  to  drowsi- 
ness ;  and  this  relaxing  effect  is  further  appa- 
rent from  the  prejudice  which  people  of  weak 
nerves  receive  from  their  use.  It  were  worth 
while  to  examine,  wrhether  tastes  of  this  kind, 
sweet  ones,  tastes  that  are  caused  by  smooth 
oils  and  a  relaxing  salt,  are  not  the  originally 


238  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

pleasant  tastes ;  for  many,  which  use  has  ren- 
dered such,  were  not  at  all  agreeable  at  first. 
The  way  to  examine  this  is  to  try  what  na- 
ture has  originally  provided  for  us,  which  she 
has  undoubtedly  made  originally  pleasant, 
and  to  analyse  this  provision.  Milk  is  the 
first  support  of  our  childhood.  The  compo- 
nent parts  of  this  are  water,  oil,  and  a  sort  of 
a  very  sweet  salt,  called  the  sugar  of  milk. 
All  these,  when  blended,  have  a  great  smooth- 
ness to  the  taste,  and  a  relaxing  quality  to  the 
skin.  The  next  thing  children  covet  is 
fruit,  and  of  fruits  those  principally  which 
are  sweet;  and  every  one  knows  that  the 
sweetness  of  fruit  is  caused  by  a  subtile  oil, 
and  such  a  salt  as  that  mentioned  in  the  last 
section.  Afterwards,  custom,  habit,  the  de- 
sire of  novelty,  and  a  thousand  other  causes, 
confound,  adulterate,  and  change  our  palates, 
so  that  we  can  no  longer  reason  with  any  sa- 
tisfaction about  them.  Before  we  quit  this 
article,  we  must  observe  that  as  smooth 
things  are,  as  such,  agreeable  to  the  taste, 
and  are  found  of  a  relaxing  quality ;  so,  on 
the  other  hand,  things  which  are  found  by 
experience  to  be  of  a  strengthening  quality, 
and  fit  to  brace  the  fibres,  are  almost  univer- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  239 

sally  rough  and  pungent  to  the  taste,  and  in 
many  cases  rough  even  to  the  touch.  We 
often  apply  the  quality  of  sweetness,  meta- 
phorically, to  visual  objects.  For  the  better 
carrying  on  this  remarkable  analogy  of  the 
senses,  we  may  here  call  sweetness  the  beau- 
tiful of  the  taste. 

SECT.  XXIII. 

VARIATION,  WHY  BEAUTIFUL. 

ANOTHER  principal  property  of  beautiful 
objects  is  that  the  line  of  their  parts  is  con- 
tinually varying  its  direction ;  but  it  varies  it 
by  a  very  insensible  deviation  ;  it  never  va- 
ries it  so  quickly  as  to  surprise,  or  by  the 
sharpness  of  its  angle  to  cause  any  twitching 
or  convulsion  of  the  optic  nerve.  Nothing 
long  continued  in  the  same  manner,  nothing 
very  suddenly  varied,  can  be  beautiful ;  be- 
cause both  are  opposite  to  that  agreeable  re- 
laxation, which  is  the  characteristic  effect  of 
beauty.  It  is  thus  in  all  the  senses.  A  mo- 
tion in  a  right  line  is  that  manner  of  moving 
next  to  a  very  gentle  descent,  in  which  we 
meet  the  least  resistance:   yet  it  is  not  that 


240  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

manner  of  moving,  which,  next  to  a  descent, 
wearies  us  the  least.  Rest  certainly  tends  to 
relax ;  yet  there  is  a  species  of  motion  which 
relaxes  more  than  rest;  a  gentle  oscillatory 
motion,  a  rising  and  falling.  Rocking  sets 
children  to  sleep  better  than  absolute  rest: 
there  is  indeed  scarce  any  thing  at  that  age 
which  gives  more  pleasure  than  to  be  gently 
lifted  up  and  down ;  the  manner  of  playing 
which  their  nurses  use  with  children,  and  the 
weighing  and  swinging  used  afterwards  by 
themselves  as  a  favorite  amusement,  evince 
this  very  sufficiently.  Most  people  must 
have  observed  the  sort  of  sense  they  have 
had,  on  being  swiftly  drawn  in  an  easy  coach 
on  a  smooth  turf,  with  gradual  ascents  and 
declivities.  This  will  give  a  better  idea  of 
the  beautiful,  and  point  out  its  probable  cause 
better  than  almost  any  thing  else.  On  the 
contrary,  when  one  is  hurried  over  a  rough, 
rocky,  broken  road,  the  pain  felt  by  these 
sudden  inequalities  shews  why  similar  sights, 
feelings,  and  sounds,  are  so  contrary  to  beau- 
ty ;  and,  with  regard  to  the  feeling,  it  is  ex- 
actly the  same  in  its  effect,  or  very  nearly  the 
same,  whether,  for  instance,  I  move  my  hand 
along  the  surface  of  a  body  of  a  certain  shape, 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  241 

or  whether  such  a  body  is  moved  along  my 
hand.  But  to  bring  this  analogy  of  the  senses 
home  to  the  eye ;  if  a  body  presented  to  that 
sense  has  such  a  waving  surface,  that  the  rays 
of  light  reflected  from  it  are  in  a  continual  in- 
sensible deviation  from  the  strongest  to  the 
weakest  (which  is  always  the  case  in  a  sur- 
face gradually  unequal),  it  must  be  exactly 
similar  in  its  effect  on  the  eye  and  touch ; 
upon  the  one  of  which  it  operates  directly,  on 
the  other  indirectly:  and  this  body  will  be 
beautiful,  if  the  lines  which  compose  its  sur- 
face are  not  continued,  even  so  varied,  in  a 
manner  that  may  weary  or  dissipate  the  atten- 
tion. The  variation  itself  must  be  continu- 
ally varied. 

SECT.  XXIV. 

CONCERNING    SMALLNESS. 

1  O  avoid  a  sameness  which  may  arise  from 
the  too  frequent  repetition  of  the  same  reason- 
ings, and  of  illustrations  of  the  same  nature,  I 
will  not  enter  very  minutely  into  every  par- 
ticular that  regards  beauty,  as  it  is  founded  on 
the  disposition  of  its  quantity,  or  its  quantity 

x  2 


242  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

itself.  In  speaking  of  the  magnitude  of  bo- 
dies there  is  great  uncertainty,  because  the 
ideas  of  great  and  small  are  terms  almost  en- 
tirely relative  to  the  species  of  the  objects, 
which  are  infinite.  It  is  true,  that,  having 
once  fixed  the  species  of  any  object,  and  the 
dimensions  common  in  the  individuals  of  that 
species,  we  may  observe  some  that  exceed, 
and  some  that  fall  short  of,  the  ordinary  stand- 
ard: these  which  greatly  exceed  are  by  that 
excess,  provided  the  species  itself  be  not  very 
small,  rather  great  and  terrible  than  beauti- 
ful; but  as  in  the  animal  world,  and,  in  a 
good  measure,  in  the  vegetable  world  like- 
wise, the  qualities  that  constitute  beauty  may 
possibly  be  united  to  things  of  greater  dimen- 
sions ;  when  they  are  so  united,  they  consti- 
tute a  species  something  different  both  from 
the  sublime  and  beautiful,  which  I  have  be- 
fore called  Fine;  but  this  kind,  I  imagine, 
has  not  such  a  power  on  the  passions,  either 
as  vast  bodies  have  which  are  endued  with  the 
correspondent  qualities  of  the  sublime ;  or  as 
the  qualities  of  beauty  have,  when  united  in  a 
small  object.  The  affection  produced  by 
large  bodies,  adorned  with  the  spoils  of  beau- 
ty, is  a  tension  continually  relieved,  which- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  243 

approaches  to  the  nature  of  mediocrity.  But 
if  I  were  to  say  how  I  find  myself  affected 
upon  such  occasions,  I  should  say  that  the 
sublime  suffers  less  by  being  united  to  some 
of  the  qualities  of  beauty,  than  beauty  does 
by  being  joined  to  greatness  of  quantity,  or 
any  other  properties  of  the  sublime.  There 
is  something  so  over-ruling  in  whatever  in- 
spires us  with  awe,  in  all  things  which  belong 
ever  so  remotely  to  terror,  that  nothing  else 
can  stand  in  their  presence^  There  lie  the 
qualities  of  beauty,  either  dead  and  unope- 
rative,  or,  at  most,  exerted  to  mollify  the  ri- 
gour and  sternness  of  the  terror  which  is  the 
natural  concomitant  of  greatness.  Besides 
the  extraordinary  great  in  every  species,  the 
opposite  to  this,  the  dwarfish  and  diminutive, 
ought  to  be  considered.  Littleness,  merely 
as  such,  has  nothing  contrary  to  the  idea  of 
beauty.  The  humming  bird,  both  in  shape 
and  colouring,  yields  to  none  of  the  winged 
species,  of  which  it  is  the  least ;  and  perhaps 
his  beauty  is  enhanced  by  his  smallness.  But 
there  are  animals  which,  when  they  are  ex- 
tremely small,  are  rarely  (if  ever)  beautiful. 
There  is  a  dwarfish  size  of  men  and  women, 
which  is.  almost  constantly  so  gross  and  mas- 


244  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

sive  in  comparison  of  their  height,  that  they 
present  us  with  a  very  disagreeable  image. 
But  should  a  man  be  found  not  above  two  or 
three  feet  high,  supposing  such  a  person  to 
have  all  the  parts  of  his  body  of  a  delicacy 
suitable  to  such  a  size,  and  otherwise  endued 
with  the  common  qualities  of  other  beautiful 
bodies,  I  am  pretty  well  convinced  that  a 
person  of  such  a  stature  might  be  considered 
as  beautiful ;  might  be  the  object  of  love ; 
might  give  us  very  pleasing  ideas  on  viewing 
him.  The  only  thing  which  could  possibly 
interpose  to  check  our  pleasure  is,  that  such 
•creatures,  however  formed,  are  unusual,  and 
are  often  therefore  considered  as  something 
monstrous.  The  large  and  gigantic,  though 
very  compatible  with  the  sublime,  is  contrary 
to  the  beautiful.  It  is  impossible  to  suppose 
a  giant  the  object  of  love.  When  we  let  our 
imagination  loose  in  romance,  the  ideas  we 
naturally  annex  to  that  size  are  those  of  ty- 
ranny, cruelty,  injustice,  and  every  thing 
horrid  and  abominable.  We  paint  the  giant 
ravaging  the  country,  plundering  the  inno- 
cent traveller,  and  afterwards  gorged  with  his 
half-living  flesh:  such  are  Polyphemus,  Ca- 
cus,  and  others,  who  make  so  great  a  figure  in 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  245 

romances  and  heroic  poems.  The  event  we 
attend  to,  with  the  greatest  satisfaction,  is  their 
defeat  and  death.  I  do  not  remember,  in  all 
that  multitude  of  deaths  with  which  the  Iliad 
is  filled,  that  the  fall  of  any  man  remarkable 
for  his  great  stature  and  strength  touches  us 
with  pity ;  nor  does  it  appear  that  the  author, 
so  well  read  in  human  nature,  ever  intended 
it  should.  It  is  Simoisius  in  the  soft  bloom 
of  youth,  torn  from  his  parents,  who  tremble 
for  a  courage  so  ill  suited  to  his  strength  ;  it 
is  another  hurried  by  war  from  the  new  em- 
braces of  his  bride,  young  and  fair,  and  a  no- 
vice to  the  field,  who  melts  us  by  his  untimely 
fate.  Achilles,  in  spite  of  the  many  qualities 
of  beauty  which  Homer  has  bestowed  on  his 
outward  form,  and  the  many  great  virtues 
with  which  he  has  adorned  his  mind,  can  ne- 
ver make  us  love  him.  It  may  be  observed, 
that  Homer  has  given  the  Trojans,  whose  fate 
he  has  designed  to  excite  our  compassion,  in- 
finitely more  of  the  amiable  social  virtues  than 
he  has  distributed  among  his  Greeks.  With 
regard  to  the  Trojans,  the  passion  he  chooses 
to  raise  is  pity ;  pity  is  a  passion  founded  on 
love ;  and  these  lesser,  and  if  I  may  say  do- 
mestic virtues,  are  certainly  the  most  amiable* 


246  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

But  he  has  made  the  Greeks  far  their  superi- 
ors in  politic  and  military  virtues.  The  coun- 
cils of  Priam  are  weak  ;  the  arms  of  Hector 
comparatively  feeble ;  his  courage  far  below 
that  of  Achilles.  Yet  we  love  Priam  more 
than  Agamemnon,  and  Hector  more  than  his 
conqueror  Achilles.  Admiration  is  the  pas- 
sion which  Homer  would  excite  in  favour  of 
the  Greeks,  and  he  has  done  it  by  bestowing 
on  them  the  virtues  which  have  but  little  to 
do  with  love.  This  short  digression  is,  per- 
haps, not  wholly  beside  our  purpose,  where 
our  business  is  to  shew  that  objects  of  great 
dimensions  are  incompatible  with  beauty,  the 
more  incompatible  as  they  are  greater: 
whereas  the  small,  if  ever  they  fail  of  beau- 
ty, this  failure  is  not  to  be  attributed  to  their 
size. 


SECT.  XXVI. 

OF    COLOUR. 

WITH  regard  to  colour,  the  disquisition 
is  almost  infinite  ;  but,  I  conceive,  the  princi- 
ples laid  down  in  the  beginning  of  this  Part 
are  sufficient  to  account  for  the  effects  of  them 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  247 

all,  as  well  as  for  the  agreeable  effects  c»f 
transparent  bodies,  whether  fluid  or  solid. 
Suppose  I  look  at  a  bottle  of  muddy  liquor, 
of  a  blue  or  red  colour :  the  blue  or  red  ravs 
cannot  pass  clearly  to  the  eye,  but  are  sud- 
denly and  unequally  stopped  by  the  interven- 
tion of  little  opaque  bodies,  which,  without 
preparation,  change  the  idea,  and  change  it, 
too,  into  one  disagreeable  in  its  own  nature, 
conformable  to  the  principles  laid  down  in 
sect.  24.  But  when  the  ray  passes  without 
such  opposition  through  the  glass  or  liquor, 
when  the  glass  or  liquor  is  quite  trans- 
parent, the  light  is  something  softened  in  the 
passage,  which  makes  it  more  agreeable  even 
as  light ;  and  the  liquor  reflecting  all  the  ravs 
of  its  proper  colour  evenly,  it  has  such  an 
effect  on  the  eye  as  smooth  opaque  bodies 
have  on  the  eye  and  touch  ;  so  that  the  plea- 
sure here  is  compounded  of  the  softness  of 
the  transmitted,  and  the  evenness  of  the  reflect- 
ed light.  This  pleasure  may  be  heightened  by 
the  common  principles  in  other  things,  if  the 
shape  of  the  glass  which  holds  the  transparent 
liquor  be  so  judiciously  varied  as  to  pre- 
sent the  colour  gradually  and  interchangeably 
weakened  and  strengthened  with  all  the  va- 


248  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

riety  which  judgment,  in  affairs  of  this  nature, 
shall  suggest.  On  a  review  of  all  that  has 
been  said  of  the  effects,  as  well  as  the  causes 
of  both,  it  will  appear  that  the  sublime  and 
beautiful  are  built  on  principles  very  differ- 
ent; and  that  their  affections  are  as  different: 
the  great  has  terror  for  its  basis,  which,  when 
it  is  modified,  causes  that  emotion  in  the  mind 
which  I  have  called  astonishment :  the  beau- 
tiful is  founded  on  mere  positive  pleasure,  and 
excites  in  the  soul  that  feeling  which  is  called 
love.  Their  causes  have  made  the  subject  of 
this  Fourth  Part. 


EttD  OF  THE  FOURTH  PART. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  INQUIRY 


INTO    THE 


ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS 


SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 


PART  V.  SECT.  I. 

OF    WORDS. 

NATURAL  objects  affect  us  by  the  laws  of 

that  connection  which  Providence  has  esta- 
blished between  certain  motions  and  confi- 
gurations of  bodies,  and  certain  consequent 
feelings  in  our  minds.  Painting  affects  in 
the  same  manner,  but  with  the  superadded 
pleasure  of  imitation.  Architecture  affects 
by  the  laws  of  nature,  and  the  law  of  reason  ; 
from  which  latter  result  the  rules  of  propor- 


250  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

tion,  which  make  a  work  to  be  praised  or 
censured,  in  the  whole  or  in  some  part,  when 
the  end  for  which  it  was  designed  is  or  is  not 
properly  answered.  But  as  to  words,  they 
seem  to  me  to  affect  us  in  a  manner  very  dif- 
ferent from  that  in  which  we  are  affected  by 
natural  objects,  or  by  painting  or  architec- 
ture ;  yet  words  have  as  considerable  a  share 
in  exciting  ideas  of  beauty  and  of  the  sublime, 
as  any  of  those,  and  sometimes  a  much  great- 
er than  any  of  them  :  therefore,  an  inquiry 
into  the  manner  by  which  they  excite  such 
emotions  is  far  from  being  unnecessary  in  a 
discourse  of  this  kind. 


SECT.  II. 

THE    COMMON    EFFECT    OF    POETRY,    NOT    BY 
RAISING    IDEAS    OF    THINGS. 

1  HE  common  notion  of  the  power  of  poetry 
and  eloquence,  as  well  as  that  of  words  in  or- 
dinary conversation,  is,  that  they  affect  the 
mind  by  raising  in  it  ideas  of  those  things  for 
which  custom  has  appointed  them  to  stand. 
To  examine  the  truth  of  this  notion,  it  may 
be  requisite  to  observe,  that  words  may  be  di- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  251 

vided  into  three  sorts*  The  first  are  such  as 
represent  many  simple  ideas,  united  by  nature^ 
to  form  some  one  determinate  composition, 
as  man,  horse,  tree,  castle,  &c.  These  I  call 
aggregate  zvords.  The  second  are  they  that 
stand  for  one  simple  idea  of  such  composi- 
tions, and  no  more ;  as  red,  blue,  round, 
square  and  the  like.  These  I  call  simple 
abstract  words.  The  third  are  those  which 
are  formed  by  an  union,  an  arbitrary  union 
of  both  the  others,  and  of  the  various  rela- 
tions ,between  them  in  greater  or  lesser  de- 
grees of  complexity  ;  as  virtue,  honour,  per- 
suasion, magistrate,  and  the  like.  These  I 
call  compound  abstract  words.  Words,  I  am 
sensible,  are  capable  of  being  classed  into 
more  curious  distinctions  ;  but  these  seem  to 
be  natural,  and  enough  for  our  purpose  ;  and 
they  are  disposed  in  that  order  which  they 
are  commonly  taught,  and  in  which  the  mind 
gets  the  ideas  they  are  substituted  for.  I  shall 
begin  with  the  third  sort  of  words,  compound 
abstracts,  such  as  virtue,  honour,  persuasion, 
docility.  Of  these  I  am  convinced  that, 
whatever  power  they  may  have  on  the  pas- 
sions, they  do  not  derive  it  from  any  repre- 
sentation raised  in  the  mind  of  the  things  for 


252  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

which  they  stand.  As  compositions,  they 
are  not  real  essences,  and  hardly  cause,  I 
think,  any  real  ideas.  Nobody,  I  believe, 
immediately  on  hearing  the  sounds,  virtue, 
liberty,  or  honour,  conceives  any  precise 
notions  of  the  particular  modes  of  action  and 
thinking,  together  with  the  mixed  and  simple 
ideas,  and  the  several  relations  of  them,  for 
which  these  words  are  substituted;  neither 
has  he  any  general  idea  compounded  of  them ; 
for,  if  he  had,  then  some  of  those  particular 
ones,  though  indistinct,  perhaps,  and  con- 
fused, might  come  soon  to  be  perceived.  But 
this,  I  take  it,  is  hardly  ever  the  case ;  for, 
put  yourself  upon  analysing  one  of  these 
words,  and  you  must  reduce  it  from  one  set 
of  general  words  to  another,  and  then  into 
the  simple  abstracts  and  aggregates,  in  a  much 
longer  series  than  may  be  at  first  imagined, 
before  any  real  idea  emerges  to  light,  before 
you  come  to  discover  any  thing  like  the  first 
principles  of  such  compositions  ;  and,  when 
you  have  made  such  a  discovery  of  the  origi- 
nal ideas,  the  effect  of  the  composition  is  ut- 
terly lost.  A  train  of  thinking  of  this  sort  is 
much  too  long  to  be  pursued  in  the  ordinary 
ways  of  conversation  ;  nor  is  it  at  all  necessary 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  253 

that  it  should.  Such  words  are  in  reality  but 
mere  sounds  ;  but  they  are  sounds,  which  be- 
ing used  on  particular  occasions,  wherein  we 
receive  some  good,  or  suffer  some  evil,  or 
see  others  affected  with  good  or  evil,  or 
which  we  hear  applied  to  other  interesting- 
things  or  events  ;  and,  being  applied  in  such 
a  variety  of  cases  that  we  know  readily  by 
habit  to  what  things  they  belong,  they  pro- 
duce in  the  mind,  whenever  they  are  after- 
wards mentioned,  effects  similar  to  those  of 
their  occasions.  The  sounds  being  often 
used  without  reference  to  any  particular  oc- 
casion, and  carrying  still  their  first  impressi- 
ons, they  at  last  utterly  lose  their  connec- 
tion with  the  particular  occasions  that  gave 
rise  to  them ;  yet  the  sound,  without  any  an- 
nexed notion,  continues  to  operate  as  before. 

SECT.  III. 

GENERAL    WORDS    BEFORE    IDEAS. 

-lVLR.  LOCKE  has  somewhere  observed, 
with  his  usual  sagacity,  that  most  general 
words,  those  belonging  to  virtue  and  vice, 
good  and  evil,  especially,  are  taught  before 

y  2 


254  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

the  particular  modes  of  action  to  which  they 
belong  are  presented  to  the  mind  ;  and,  with 
them,  the  love  of  the  one  and  the  abhorrence 
of  the  other :  for  the  minds  of  children  are  so 
ductile,  that  a  nurse,  or  any  person  about  a 
child,  by  seeming  pleased  or  displeased  with 
any  thing,  or  even  any  word,  may  give  the 
dispositions  of  the  child  a  similar  turn.  When, 
afterwards,  the  several  occurrences  in  life 
come  to  be  applied  to  these  words,  and  that 
which  is  pleasant  often  appears  under  the 
name  of  the  evil,  and  what  is  disagreeable  to 
nature  is  called  good  and  virtuous,  a  strange 
confusion  of  ideas  and  affections  arises  in  the 
minds  of  many,  and  an  appearance  of  no 
small  contradiction  between  their  notions  and 
their  actions.  There  are  many  who  love  vir- 
tue and  who  detest  vice,  and  this  not  from 
hypocrisy  or  affectation,  who,  notwithstand- 
ing, very  frequently  act  ill  and  wickedly  in 
particulars  without  the  least  remorse  ;  because  % 
these  particular  occasions  never  came  into 
view  when  the  passions  on  the  side  of  virtue 
were  so  warmly  affected  by  certain  words, 
heated  originally  by  the  breath  of  others; 
and,  for  this  reason,  it  is  hard  to  repeat  cer- 
tain sets  of  words,  though  owned  by  them- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  255 

selves  unoperative,  without  being  in  some 
degi-ee  affected,  especially  if  a  warm  and  af- 
fecting tone  of  voice  accompanies  them;  as, 
suppose, 

Wise,  valiant,  generous,  good  and  great. 

These  words,  by  having  no  application,  ought 
to  be  unoperative  ;  but  when  words,  com- 
monly sacred  to  great  occasions,  are  used,  we 
are  affected  by  them  even  without  the  occa- 
sions. When  words,  which  have  been  gene- 
rally so  applied,  are  put  together  without  any 
rational  view,  or  in  such  a  manner  that  they 
do  not  rightly  agree  with  each  other,  the  style 
is  called  bombast.  And  it  requires,  in  seve- 
ral cases,  much  good  sense  and  experience  to 
be  guarded  against  the  force  of  such  language ; 
for,  when  propriety  is  neglected,  a  greater 
number  of  these  affecting  words  may  be  taken 
into  the  service,  and  a  greater  variety  may  be 
indulged  in  combining  them. 


256  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

SECT.  IV. 

THE    EFFECTS    OF    WORDS. 

IF  words  have  all  their  possible  extent  of 
power,  three  effects  arise  in  the  mind  of  the 
hearer.  The  first  is,  the  sound:  the  second, 
the  picture,  or  representation  of  the  thing  sig- 
nified by  the  sound  ;  the  third  is,  the  affection 
of  the  soul  produced  by  one  or  by  both  of  the 
foregoing.  Compounded  abstract  words,  of 
which  we  have  been  speaking,  (honour,  jus- 
tice, liberty,  and  the  like),  produce  the  first 
and  the  last  of  these  effects,  but  not  the  se- 
cond. Simple  abstracts  are  used  to  signify 
some  one  simple  idea,  without  much  advert- 
ing to  others  which  may  chance  to  attend  it, 
as  blue,  green,  hot,  cold,  and  the  like  ;  these 
are  capable  of  affecting  all  three  of  the  pur- 
poses of  words ;  as  the  aggregate  words,  man, 
castle,  horse,  &c.  are  in  a  yet  higher  degree. 
But  I  am  of  opinion  that  the  most  general 
effect,  even  of  these  words,  does  not  arise 
from  their  forming  pictures  of  the  several 
things  they  would  represent  in  the  imagina- 
tion; because,  on  a  very  diligent  examina- 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  257 

tion  of  my  own  mind,  and  getting  others  to 
consider  theirs,  I  do  not  find  that  once  in 
twenty  times  any  such  picture  is  formed : 
and,  when  it  is,  there  is  most  commonly  a 
particular  effort  of  the  imagination  for  that 
purpose.  But  the  aggregate  words  operate, 
as  I  said  of  the  compound  abstracts,  not  by 
presenting  any  image  to  the  mind,  but  by 
having,  from  use,  the  same  effect  on  being 
mentioned,  that  their  original  has  when  it  is 
seen.  Suppose  we  were  to  read  a  passage  to 
this  effect:  "  The  river  Danube  rises  in  a 
moist  and  mountainous  soil  in  the  heart  of 
Germany,  where,  winding  to  and  fro,  it  wa- 
ters several  principalities,  until,  turning  into 
Austria,  and  leaving  the  walls  of  Vienna,  it 
passes  into  Hungary  :  there,  with  a  vast  flood, 
augmented  by  the  Saave  and  the  Drave,  it 
quits  Christendom ;  and,  rolling  through  the 
barbarous  countries  which  border  on  Tartary, 
it  enters  by  many  mouths  into  the  Black  Sea." 
In  this  description  many  things  are  mention- 
ed, as  mountains,  rivers,  cities,  the  sea,  &c. 
But  let  any  body  examine  himself,  and  see 
whether  he  has  had  impressed  on  his  imagin- 
ation any  pictures  of  a  river,  mountain,  wa- 
tery soil,  Germany,  &c.      Indeed  it  is  im- 


258  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

possible,  in  the  rapidity  and  quick  succession 
of  words  in  conversation,  to  have  ideas  both 
of  the  sound  of  the  word  and  of  the  thing  re- 
presented; besides,  some  words,  expressing 
real  essences,  are  so  mixed  with  others  of  a 
general  and  nominal  import,  that  it  is  imprac- 
ticable to  jump  from  sense  to  thought,  from 
particulars  to  generals,  from  things  to  words, 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  answer  the  purposes 
of  life ;   nor  is  it  necessary  that  we  should 


SECT.  V. 

EXAMPLES    THAT    WORDS    MAY    AFFECT    WITH- 
OUT   RAISING     IMAGES. 

I  FIND  it  very  hard  to  persuade  several,  that 
their  passions  are  affected  by  words  from 
whence  they  have  no  ideas  ;  and  yet  harder 
to  convince  them,  that,  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  conversation,  we  are  sufficiently  under- 
stood without  raising  any  images  of  the  things 
concerning  which  we  speak.  It  seems  to  be 
an  odd  object  of  dispute  with  any  man,  whe- 
ther he  has  ideas  in  his  mind  or  not.  Of  this, 
at  first  view,  every  man,  in  his  own  forum, 
ought  to  judge  without  appeal.     But,  strange 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  259 

as  it  may  appear,  we  are  often  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  ideas  we  have  of  things,  or  whe- 
ther we  have  any  ideas  at  all  upon  some  sub- 
jects. It  even  requires  a  good  deal  of  atten- 
tion to  be  thoroughly  satisfied  on  this  head. 
Since  I  wrote  these  papers  I  found  two  very 
striking  instances  of  the  possibility  there  is 
that  a  man  may  hear  words  without  having 
any  idea  of  the  things  which  they  represent, 
and  yet  afterwards  be  capable  of  returning 
them  to  others,  combined  in  a  new  way,  and 
with  great  propriety,  energy,  and  instruction. 
The  first  instance  is  that  of  Mr.  Blacklock,  a 
poet  blind  from  his  birth.  Few  men  blessed 
with  the  most  perfect  sight  can  describe  visual 
objects  with  more  spirit  and  justness  than  this 
blind  man;  which  cannot  possibly  be  attri- 
buted to  his  having  a  clearer  conception  of 
the  things  he  describes  than  is  common  to 
other  persons.  Mr.  Spence,  in  an  elegant 
preface  which  he  has  written  to  the  works  of 
this  poet,  reasons  very  ingeniously,  and  I 
imagine,  for  the  most  part,  very  rightly,  upon 
the  cause  of  this  extraordinary  phenomenon ; 
but  I  cannot  altogether  agree  with  him,  that 
some  improprieties  in  language  and  thought, 
which  occur  in  these  poems,  have  arisen  from 


260  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

the  blind  poet's  imperfect  conception  of  vi- 
sual objects :  since  such  improprieties,  and 
much  greater,  may  be  found  in  writers  even 
of  an  higher  class  than  Mr.  Blacklock,  and 
who,  notwithstanding,  possessed  the  faculty 
of  seeing  in  its  full  perfection.  Here  is  a 
poet  doubtless  as  much  affected  by  his  own 
descriptions  as  any  that  reads  them  can  be ; 
and  yet  he  is  affected  with  this  strong  enthu- 
siasm by  things  of  which  he  neither  has,  nor 
can  possibly  have,  any  idea,  further  than  that 
of  a  bare  sound  :  and  why  may  not  those  who 
read  his  works  be  affected  in  the  same  manner 
that  he  was,  with  as  little  of  any  real  ideas  of 
the  things  described  ?  The  second  instance  is 
of  Mr.  Saunderson,  professor  of  mathematics 
in  the  university  of  Cambridge.  This  learned 
man  had  acquired  great  knowledge  in  natu- 
ral philosophy,  in  astronomy,  and  whatever 
sciences  depend  upon  mathematical  skill. 
What  was  the  most  extraordinary  and  the 
most  to  my  purpose,  he  gave  excellent  lec- 
tures upon  light  and  colours  ;  and  this  man 
taught  others  the  theory  of  those  ideas  which 
they  had,  and  which  he  himself  undoubtedly 
had  not.  But  it  is  probable  that  the  words 
red,  blue,  green,  answered  to  him  as  well  as 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  261 

the  ideas  of  the  colours  themselves ;  for  the 
ideas  of  greater  or  lesser  degrees  of  refrangi- 
bility  being  applied  to  these  words,  and  the 
blind  man  being  instructed  in  what  other  re- 
spects they  were  found  to  agree  or  to  dis- 
agree, it  was  as  easy  for  him  to  reason  upon 
the  words  as  if  he  had  been  fully  master  of 
the  ideas.  Indeed,  it  must  be  owned  he  could 
make  no  new  discoveries  in  the  way  of  expe- 
riment. He  did  nothing  but  what  we  do 
every  day  in  common  discourse.  When  I 
wrote  this  last  sentence,  and  used  the  words 
every  day  and  common  discourse,  I  had  no 
images  in  my  mind  of  any  succession  of 
time;  nor  of  men  in  conference  with  each 
other ;  nor  do  I  imagine  that  the  reader  will 
have  any  such  ideas  on  reading  it.  Neither, 
when  I  spoke  of  red  or  blue  and  green,  as 
well  as  refrangibility,  had  I  these  several  co- 
lours, or  the  rays  of  light  passing  into  a  dif- 
ferent medium,  and  there  diverted  from  their 
course,  painted  before  me  in  the  way  of 
images.  I  know  very  well  that  the  mind  pos- 
sesses a  faculty  of  raising  such  images  at  plea- 
sure; but  then  an  act  of  the  will  is  necessary 
to  this ;  and,  in  ordinary  conversation  or  read- 
ing, it  is  very  rarely  that  any  image  at  all  is 

z 


262  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

excited  in  the  mind.  If  I  say  "  I  shall  go  to 
Italy  next  summer,"  I  am  well  understood. 
Yet,  I  believe,  nobody  has  by  this  painted  in 
his  imagination  the  exact  figure  of  the  speaker 
passing  by  land  or  by  water,  or  both ;  some- 
times on  horseback,  sometimes  in  a  carriage ; 
with  all  the  particulars  of  the  journey.  Still 
less  has  he  any  idea  of  Italy,  the  country  to 
which  I  proposed  to  go ;  or  of  the  greenness 
of  the  fields,  the  ripening  of  the  fruits,  and 
the  warmth  of  the  air,  with  the  change  to  this 
from  a  different  season,  which  are  the  ideas 
for  which  the  word  summer  is  substituted: 
but  least  of  all  has  he  any  image  from  the 
word  next ;  for  this  word  stands  for  the  idea 
of  many  summers,  with  the  exclusion  of  all 
but  one :  and  surely  the  man  who  says  next 
summer  has  no  images  of  such  a  succession 
and  such  an  exclusion.  In  short,  it  is  not 
only  of  those  ideas  which  are  commonly 
called  abstract,  and  of  which  no  image  at  all 
can  be  formed,  but  even  of  particular  real 
beings,  that  we  converse  without  having  any 
idea  of  them  excited  in  the  imagination;  as 
will  certainly  appear  on  a  diligent  examina- 
tion of  our  own  minds.  Indeed,  so  little  does 
poetry  depend  for  its  effect^  on  the  power  of 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  263 

raising  sensible  images,  that  I  am  convinced 
it  would  lose  a  very  considerable  part  of  its 
energy  if  this  were  the  necessary  result  of  all 
description:  because  that  union  of  affecting 
words,  which  is  the  most  powerful  of  all 
poetical  instruments,  would  frequently  lose  its 
force,  along  with  its  propriety  and  consistency, 
if  the  sensible  images  were  always  excited. 
There  is  not,  perhaps,  in  the  whole  iEneid,  a 
more  grand  and  laboured  passage  than  the  de- 
scription of  Vulcan's  cavern  in  iEtna,  and  the 
works  that  are  there  carried  on.  Virgil  dwells 
particularly  on  the  formation  of  the  thunder, 
which  he  describes  unfinished  under  the  ham- 
mers of  the  Cyclop9.  But  what  are  the  prin- 
ciples of  this  extraordinary  composition  ? 

Tres  imbris  torti  radios,  tres  nubis  aquosx 
Addiderant ;  rutili  tres  ignis  et  alitis  austri ; 
Fulgores  nunc  terrificos  sonitumque,  metumque 
Miscebant  operi,  flammisque  sequacibus  iras. 

This  seems  to  me  admirably  sublime  ;  yet,  if 
we  attend  coolly  to  the  kind  of  sensible 
images  which  a  combination  of  ideas  of  this 
sort  must  form,  the  chimeras  of  madmen  can- 
not appear  more  wild  and  absurd  than  such  a 


264  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

picture.  a  Three  rays  of  twisted  showers, 
"  three  of  watery  clouds,  three  of  fire,  and 
"  three  of  the  winged  south  wind;  then  mixed 
"  they  in  the  work  terrific  lightnings,  and 
"  sound,  and  fear,  and  anger,  with  pursu- 
u  *ng  flames"  This  strange  composition  is 
formed  into  a  gross  body ;  it  is  hammered  by 
the  Cyclops ;  it  is  in  part  polished,  and 
partly  continues  rough.  The  truth  is,  if 
poetry  gives  us  a  noble  assemblage  of  words, 
corresponding  to  many  noble  ideas,  which  are 
connected  by  circumstances  of  time  or  place, 
or  related  to  each  other  as  cause  and  effect,  or 
associated  in  any  natural  way,  they  may  be 
moulded  together  in  any  form,  and  perfectly 
answer  their  end.  The  picturesque  connec- 
tion is  not  demanded,  because  no  real  picture 
is  formed ;  nor  is  the  effect  of  the  description 
at  all  the  less  upon  this  account.  What  is 
said  of  Helen,  by  Priam  and  the  old  men  of 
his  council,  is  generally  thought  to  give  us 
the  highest  possible  idea  of  that  fatal  beauty : 

Ov  n/ufs-n  Tg«D3t?  itcti  ivKny.t£&s  A^atfa?, 
Aiyut  f  (tQ&VArixri  3-jmj  u;  U7ra.  tiUiV. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  265 

They  cry'd,  No  wonder  such  celestial  charms 
For  nine  long-  years  have  set  the  world  in  arms: 
What  winning  graces  !  what  majestic  mien! 
She  moves  a  goddess,  and  she  looks  a  queen. 

Pope. 

Here  is  not  one  word  said  of  the  particulars 
of  her  Beauty;  nothing  which  can  in  the 
least  help  us  to  any  precise  idea  of  her  per- 
son :  but  yet  we  are  much  more  touched  by 
this  manner  of  mentioning  her,  than  by  those 
long  and  laboured  descriptions  of  Helen,  whe- 
ther handed  down  by  tradition,  or  formed  by 
fancy,  which  are  to  be  met  with  in  some 
authors.  I  am  sure  it  affects  me  much  more 
than  the  minute  description  which  Spencer 
has  given  of  Belphebe  ;  though  I  own  that 
there  are  parts  in  that  description,  as  there  are 
in  all  the  descriptions  of  that  excellent  writer, 
extremely  fine  and  poetical.  The  terrible 
picture  which  Lucretius  has  drawn  of  Reli- 
gion, in  order  to  display  the  magnanimity  of 
his  philosophical  hero  in  opposing  her,  is 
thought  to  be  designed  with  great  boldness 
and  spirit: 

Humana  ante  oculos  fcede  cum  vita  jaceret, 
In  terris,  oppressa  gravi  sub  religione, 
Quse  caput  e  coeli  regionibus  ostendebat 
Horribili  desuper  visu  mortalibus  instans  ; 

Z2 


266  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

Primus  Graius  homo  mortales  tollere  contra 
Est  oculos  ausus. 

What  idea  do  you  derive  from  so  excellent  a 
picture  ?  None  at  all,  most  certainly ;  neither 
has  the  poet  said  a  single  word  which  might 
in  the  least  serve  to  mark  a  single  limb  or  fea- 
ture of  the  phantom,  which  he  intended  to  re- 
present in  all  the  horrors  imagination  can  con- 
ceive. In  reality,  poetry  and  rhetoric  do  not 
succeed,  in  exact  description,  so  well  as  paint- 
ing does :  their  business  is,  to  affect  rather  by 
sympathy  than  imitation ;  to  display  rather 
the  effect  of  things  on  the  mind  of  the  speaker, 
or  of  others,  than  to  present  a  clear  idea  of 
the  things  themselves.  This  is  their  most  ex- 
tensive province,  and  that  in  which  they  suc- 
ceed the  best. 

SECT.  VI. 

POETRY  NOT  STRICTLY  AN  IMITATIVE  ART. 

H.ENCE  we  may  observe,  that  poetry,  taken 
in  its  most  general  sense,  cannot  with  strict 
propriety  be  called  an  art  of  imitation.  It  is 
indeed  an  imitation,  so  far  as  it  describes  the 
manners  and  passions  of  men,  which  their 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  267 

words  can  express  ;  where  animi  motus  effert 
interprete  lingua:  there  it  is  strictly  imita- 
tion ;  and  all  merely  dramatic  poetry  is  of 
this  sort.  But  descriptive  poetry  operates 
chiefly  by  substitution;  by  the  means  of 
sounds,  which  by  custom  have  the  effect  of 
realities.  Nothing  is  an  imitation  further 
than  as  it  resembles  some  other  thing ;  and 
words  undoubtedly  have  no  sort  of  resem- 
blance to  the  ideas  for  which  they  stand. 

SECT.  VII. 

HOW    WORDS    INFLUENCE    THE    PASSIONS. 

-N  OW,  as  words  affect,  not  by  any  original 
power,  but  by  representation,  it  might  be 
supposed  that  their  influence  over  the  passions 
should  be  but  light :  yet  it  is  quite  otherwise  ; 
for  we  find  by  experience  that  eloquence  and 
poetry  are  as  capable,  nay  indeed  much  more 
capable,  of  making  deep  and  lively  impres- 
sions, than  any  other  arts,  and  even  than  nature 
itself,  in  very  many  cases.  And  this  arises 
chiefly  from  these  three  causes :  First,  that 
we  take  an  extraordinary  part  in  the  passions 
of  others,  and  that  we  are  easily  affected  and 


268  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

brought  into  sympathy  by  any  tokens  which 
are  shown  of  them  ;  and  there  are  no  tokens 
which  can  express  all  the  circumstances  of 
most  passions  so  fully  as  words  ;  so  that  if  a 
person  speaks  upon  any  subject,  he  can  not 
only  convey  the  subject  to  you,  but  likewise 
the  manner  in  which  he  is  himself  affected  by 
it.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  influence  of  most 
things  on  our  passions  is  not  so  much  from 
the  things  themselves,  as  from  our  opinions 
concerning  them ;  and  these  again  depend 
very  much  on  the  opinions  of  other  men, 
conveyable,  for  the  most  part,  by  words  only. 
Secondly,  there  are  many  things  of  a  very 
affecting  nature,  which  can  seldom  occur  in 
the  reality ;  but  the  words  which  represent 
them  often  do ;  and  thus  they  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  making  a  deep  impression  and  tak- 
ing root  in  the  mind,  whilst  the  idea  of  the 
reality  was  transient  j  and  to  some,  perhaps, 
never  really  occurred  in  any  shape,  to  whom 
it  is,  notwithstanding,  very  affecting,  as  war, 
death,  famine,  &c.  Besides,  many  ideas 
have  never  been  at  all  presented  to  the  senses 
of  any  man  but  by  words,  as  God,  angels, 
devils,  heaven,  and  hell;  all  of  which  have, 
however,  a  great  influence  over  the  passions* 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  269 

Thirdly,  by  words  we  have  it  in  our  power 
to  make  such  combinations  as  we  cannot  pos- 
sibly do  otherwise.  By  this  power  of  com- 
bining, we  are  able,  by  the  addition  of  well- 
chosen  circumstances,  to  give  a  new  life  and 
force  to  the  simple  objects.  In  painting,  we 
may  represent  any  fine  figure  we  please ;  but 
we  never  can  give  it  those  enlivening  touches 
which  it  may  receive  from  words.  To  re- 
present an  angel  in  a  picture,  you  can  only 
draw  a  beautiful  young  man  winged:  but 
what  painting  can  furnish  out  any  thing  so 
grand  as  the  addition  cf  one  word,  "  the  angel 
"  of  the  Lord?"  It  is  true,  I  have  here  no 
clear  idea  j  but  these  words  affect  the  mind 
more  than  the  sensible  image  did ;  which  is 
all  I  contend  for.  A  picture  of  Priam  drag- 
ged to  the  altar's  foot,  and  there  murdered,  if 
it  were  well  executed,  would  undoubtedly  be 
very  moving ;  but  there  are  very  aggravating 
circumstances  which  it  could  never  repre- 
sent: 

Sanguine  foedantem  quos  ipse  sacraverat  ig-nes. 

As  a  further  instance,  let  us  consider  those 
lines  of  Milton,  where  he  describes  the  tra- 


270  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

vels  of  the  fallen  angels  through  their  dismal 
habitation : 

O'er  many  a  dark  and  dreary  vale 

They  pass'd,  and  many  a  region  dolorous; 

O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp ; 

Rocks,  caves,  lakes,fens,bog-s,  dens,and  shades  of  death* 

A  universe  of  death. 

Here  is  displayed  the  force  of  union  in 

Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  dens,  bog's,  fens,  and  shades ; 

which  yet  would  lose  the  greatest  part  of  the 
effect,  if  they  were  not  the 

Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  dens,  bogs,  fens,  and  shades— of 
Death. 

The  idea  of  this  affection  caused  by  a  word, 
which  nothing  but  a  word  could  annex  to  the 
others,  raises  a  very  great  degree  of  the  sub- 
lime ;  and  this  sublime  is  raised  yet  higher  by 
what  follows — a  "  universe  of  Death"  Here 
are  again  two  ideas  not  presentable  but  by 
language,  and  an  union  of  them  great  and 
amazing  beyond  conception;  if  they  may 
properly  be  called  ideas,  which  present  no 
distinct  image  to  the  mind:  but  still  it  will 
be  difficult  to  conceive  how  words  can  move 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.  271 

the  passions  which  belong  to  real  objects, 
without  representing  these  objects  clearly. 
This  is  difficult  to  us,  because  we  do  not  suffi- 
ciently distinguish,  in  our  observations  upon 
language,  between  a  clear  expression  and  a 
strong  expression.  These  are  frequently  con- 
founded with  each  other,  though  they  are  in 
reality  extremely  different.  The  former  re- 
gards the  understanding ;  the  latter  belongs 
to  the  passions :  the  one  describes  a  thing  as 
it  is  ;  the  other  describes  it  as  it  is  felt.  Now, 
as  there  is  a  moving  tone  of  voice,  an  im- 
passioned countenance,  an  agitated  gesture, 
which  affect  independently  of  the  things  about 
which  they  are  exerted ;  so  there  are  words, 
and  certain  dispositions  of  words,  which,  be- 
ing peculiarly  devoted  to  passionate  subjects, 
and  always  used  by  those  who  are  under  the 
influence  of  any  passion,  touch  and  move  us 
more  than  those  which  far  more  clearly  and 
distincdy  express  the  subject  matter.  We 
yield  to  sympathy,  what  we  refuse  to  descrip- 
tion. The  truth  is,  all  verbal  description, 
merely  as  naked  description,  though  never  so 
exact,  conveys  so  poor  and  insufficient  an 
idea  of  the  thing  described,  that  it  could 
scarcely   have   the    smallest    effect,    if   the 


272  ON  THE  SUBLIME 

speaker  did  not  call  in  to  his  aid  those  modes 
of  speech  that  mark  a  strong  and  lively  feel- 
ing in  himself.  Then,  by  the  contagion  of 
our  passions,  we  catch  a  fire,  already  kindled 
in  another,  which  probably  might  never  have 
been  struck  out  by  the  object  described. 
Words,  by  strongly  conveying  the  passions 
by  those  means  which  we  have  already  men- 
tioned, fully  compensate  for  their  weakness 
in  other  respects.  It  may  be  observed,  that 
very  polished  languages,  and  such  as  are 
praised  for  their  superior  clearness  and  per- 
spicuity, are  generally  deficient  in  strength. 
The  French  language  has  that  perfection  and 
that  defect.  "Whereas  the  Oriental  tongues, 
and  in  general  the  languages  of  most,  unpo- 
lished people,  have  a  great  force  and  energy 
of  expression  ;  and  this  is  but  natural.  Un- 
cultivated people  are  but  ordinary  observers  of 
things,  and  not  critical  in  distinguishing  them ; 
but,  for  that  reason,  they  admire  more,  and 
are  more  affected  with  what  they  see,  and 
therefore  express  themselves  in  a  warmer  and 
more  passionate  manner.  If  the  affection  be 
well  conveyed,  it  will  work  its  effect  without 
any  clear  idea  ;  often  without  any  idea  at  all  of 
the  thing  which  has  originally  given  rise  to  it. 


AND  BEAUTIFUL.         273 

It  might  be  expected,  from  the  fertility  of 
the  subject,  that  I  should  consider  poetry,  as 
it  regards  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  more  at 
large  ;   but  it  must  be  observed,  that,  in  this 
light,  it  has  been  often  and  well  handled  al- 
ready.    It  was  not  my  design  to  enter  into 
the  criticism  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  m 
any  art,  but  to  attempt  to  lay  down  such  prin- 
ciples as  may  tend  to  ascertain,  to  distinguish, 
and  to  form  a  sort  of  standard  for  them  ; 
which  purposes  I  thought  might  be  best  ef- 
fected by  an  inquiry  into  the  properties  or 
such  things  in  nature  as  raise  love  and  asto- 
nishment  in   us;    and  by  shewing  in  what 
manner  they  operated  to  produce  these  pas- 
sions.     Words  were  only  so  far  to  be  consi- 
dered, as  to  shew  upon  what  principle  they 
were  capable  of  being  the  representatives  of 
these  natural  things,  and  by  what  powers  they 
were  able  to  affect  us  often  as  strongly  as  the 
things  they  represent,  and  sometimes  much 
more  strongly. 

THE  END. 


